


a thousand points of no return

by anonymousAlchemist



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, F/M, Gen, M/M, a fun little twist on the daemon trope, small snek, the nature of the soul as extant object
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-01-10 23:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18418418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousAlchemist/pseuds/anonymousAlchemist
Summary: Since wizard's daemons often settle as birds and urban legend says that elves are separated from their daemons, no one looks too closely at the fact that Taako and Lup are both single entities, missing the other halves of their hearts. They walk like people, they talk like people, and if they're hard to read because their daemons aren't fluffing up their feathers or swatting playfully with their paws, well, elves are notoriously enigmatic anyway.This lasts until their first death.All deaths on the Starblaster are strange. When Magnus first died on the animal planet, I'morko followed right after, both of their bodies dissipating into golden sparks, a strange inversion of the natural order. The pattern holds. Year after year, person and daemon alike dissipate into a fine mist of dust, knit together by the bond engine in the new plane.During their fifteenth year, Taako is shot through the heart with a well-aimed magic missile. Lup screams and casts one last firebolt, spell-sculpting around their bodies, before unspooling into a fine golden sand.





	1. Thunderbolt — Inspiration, Fate, Chance

**Author's Note:**

> hello get hype for this CONTENT
> 
> you do NOT need to know anything about His Dark Materials to read this other than: a daemon is basically a person's soul embodied in an animal form outside their body, the animal form being tailored to what sort of person they are. It feels weird and 99% bad when someone else touches it. 
> 
> enjoy the CONTENT!

Since wizard's daemons often settle as birds and urban legend says that elves are separated from their daemons, no one looks too closely at the fact that Taako and Lup are both single entities, missing the other halves of their hearts. They walk like people, they talk like people, and if they're hard to read because their daemons aren't fluffing up their feathers or swatting playfully with their paws, well, elves are notoriously enigmatic anyway.

This lasts until their first death.

All deaths on the Starblaster are strange. When Magnus first died on the animal planet, I'morko followed right after, both of their bodies dissipating into golden sparks, a strange inversion of the natural order. The pattern holds. Year after year, person and daemon alike dissipate into a fine mist of dust, knit together by the bond engine in the new plane.

During their fifteenth year, Taako is shot through the heart with a well-aimed magic missile. Lup screams and casts one last firebolt, spell-sculpting around their bodies, before unspooling into a fine golden sand.

#

Neither of them touch skin. Both of them talk to person and daemon alike. They have a radius of approximately ninety feet — dreadfully large for a person-daemon pair, dreadfully small for siblings. The fact that one of them is a daemon explains all their odd habits.

"I thought you guys were just clingy," Merle says. Marguerite swivels her delicate head to watch the conversation from Merle's beard. The movement is the only indication that she's not one of the light pink flowers braided into his hair.

"Nah," Taako shakes his head. He doesn't look away from the frying pan. He's making dinner, and it's just him tonight, Lup on the other end of the ship going over some interesting data. He can feel her calm concentration. "We're pretty independent."

"Pretty large radius," Merle agrees. "Me and Margie are 'bout ten feet tops."

"Nine and a half," Marguerite corrects, before tilting her face toward Taako. "Why're you guys pretending to be twins?" Marguerite’s voice is louder than her slender form belies.

Taako shrugs. "You know, _twins_ makes more sense than, uh, hey, my daemon settled as, just a guy — just a walkin' talkin' elf. Yep, not an animal, _just a dude_. Kinda freaky for the average joe! You ever hear of anything happening like that? Yeah. Didn't think so."

"Sure," Merle says. "I mean, not _personally,_ but it _happens_."

Taako pauses. He stops stirring. "Wait. Really?"

"Yeah," Merle says. "Couple decades back, one of my cousins married a lady who had a human for a daemon, which was kinda funny, cause she was a gnome, so she always got her daemon to reach all the high shelves for her."

"Huh," Taako says, and he looks about to say something else, except he turns, and a moment later, Lup walks into the kitchen.

#

“So, uh,” Lup says, knocking sheepishly on the door to Davenport’s office. They call it an _office_ , but it’s really a library — a storeroom of weird souvenirs, a couple of desks and a conference table along a bank of open windows for Zephyra to fly through. And they call the office _Davenport’s_ , but it’s really Lucretia who spends the most time in here. Lup hesitates. “Can I come in? Or you busy?”

“No,” Selene says in her soft voice, without looking up. “But just give us a moment to finish.” Lucretia is flipping intently through a large leather-bound tome, her other hand scribbling notes on a notepad. In front of her and Selene, a beautiful golden device vaguely resembling a clock sits in its velvet-lined case. The arms on its face twirl rapidly. Selene watches them move, still as stone.

The reason Lucretia spends the most time in the office is because she’s the only one with the training to read an alethiometer. Lup watches without walking forward. This is delicate work.

The dials spin to a stop. Selene flaps her soft green wings and flies close to Lup, nearly brushing her face as she arcs around and back to Lucretia’s shoulder.

“Okay, we’re done for now,” Lucretia says, looking up. Lup walks around to her side of the desk to squint at the enigmatic device.

“What’d you ask?”

Lucretia smiles wry. “Same question I always ask first. _How do we defeat the Hunger?_ ”

“Thunderbolt, griffin, hourglass?” The alethiometer’s answer hasn’t changed in a dozen cycles.

Lucretia nods. “Looks like we’re still waiting on fate. _Inspiration_ ,” she says, almost bitter.

It must be frustrating, Lup thinks, to always receive the same response and never know how to interpret it. She gives Lucretia a pat on her clothed shoulder. “Sorry, babe. Better luck next cycle, I guess.”

“I suppose,” Lucretia says, leaning back in her chair. “Now I just have to ask it what we should be doing in the short term.”

“I’m glad this is your job and not mine,” Lup says, only a little tongue in cheek. Her and Taako never took alethiomancy. It seemed a little too much like courting danger, taking courses on truth-reading, and besides, there were only six alethiometers in the world.

One, now.

“Thanks,” Lucretia says, acerbic — but Selene is laughing, her feathery antennae vibrating, so Lucretia’s not actually annoyed. “Did you need anything specific, or are you just here to dunk on me?”

“Actually, yeah,” Lup says, and sits down in the other chair at the desk. “Listen. Cha’girl’s got a favor to ask you.”

Lucretia frowns. Selene flutters. “What do you need?”

“Can you keep the thing about me and Taako, you know, the daemon thing, out of your records? Like completely. Just no mention of it, zip.” Lup doesn’t look at Lucretia while she asks. She’s not used to anyone knowing. She looks at the alethiometer instead. She’s often wanted to ask _Why did we settle like this?_ but Lup knows she wouldn’t understand the answer anyway.

“Of course, Lup,” Lucretia says. “As long as Captain Davenport says it’s alright.”

“Right, yeah, of course,” Lup agrees. “Shit, we should probably talk to him about this, huh?”

“Probably,” Lucretia says, wry. “You know, kind of a big secret to be keeping from him and all.”

Lup grins, the briefest baring of teeth. “If it makes you feel any better, Luce, this is the first time we’ve told _anyone_.”

#

Like the majority of spacefaring ships, the Starblaster's crew mostly has daemons that are well suited to the confines of a ship, the freedom of the sky. Captain Davenport has an albatross larger than his armspan, who spends most of her time in the air above him. Right now, Zephyra stands next to Davenport as he stares the twins down, arms crossed.

Lup and Taako exchange a glance. They feel it unfair that a man one-third their height can intimidate them.

“Uh,” Taako says. “Sorry?”

“We didn’t think it was relevant?” Lup tries.

“Not _relevant_?” Davenport asks.

“Well, okay maybe a _little_ relevant,” Taako says. “But, you know, it just never came up!”

Davenport pinches the bridge of his nose. “ _Guys_ ,” he says. “Guys, this is _kind of_ a big secret. _Definitely_ something you should have told me, put on your application, whatever. What if I had sent you on separate missions? What if someone tried to touch _whichever_ one of you is the daemon?”

“Which one of you _is_ the daemon?” Zephyra adds.

Taako and Lup exchange a glance.

“Er,” Taako says.

“Well,” Lup says.

“ _One_ of us _definitely_ is,” Taako finishes.

Davenport sighs. “ _Guys_ ,” he says again, longsuffering. His crew is full of surprises. _Too_ full of surprises.

Lup sits down so she’s eye level with him, tugging Taako down as well. She looks at Zeph and Davenport, all earnest.

“We don’t want to be treated... differently,” Lup says. “This, you know, the being two people thing, this is what we’re used to. It’s what we _like,_ and if we tell, then — no offense Cap — but social norms are a _hell_ of a thing.”

“Besides,” Taako adds. “It’s not like _this part_ matters. You know the important bits now — that we’re not separated, and if one us dies, so does the other.”

Davenport frowns. “We — the rest of the crew — wouldn’t treat you differently, Taako, Lup. It wouldn’t matter.”

Their planet had rigid social codes — there was no communication between person and daemon in polite society, in formal or business events; daemons were to be silent; there was a distinct divide between the soul and the body. These standards have relaxed extensively over the course of the mission. Daemon talks to person, person to daemon. All equal partners. It was strange at first, that Lup and Taako talked to everyone. Now the whole crew does it.

“It’s just weird for us,” Lup says. “Can we at least ease into it? Tell everyone later?”

“...Alright,” Davenport allows, and Zeph nods her head. The twins — not twins, though — look so _forlorn_. He knows this is a ploy on their parts, but, well, its working. Taako leans forward.

“So it’s cool if Lucretia doesn’t write this down, right?”

#

Hallwinter slithers out from under Barry’s collar. “Not twins, then,” she says, curling around his neck. Barry reaches an absent hand up to stroke her scales. “Nope.”

“This doesn’t change anything, I suppose,” she says, quietly into his ear. He shrugs and makes an affirmative hum.

“Except,” she says, the word lingering wistful.

“Yeah, well,” Barry says ruefully. “Hall, It’s not like we were ever going to _do_ anything about —”

“Do anything about what?” Lup asks cheerfully.

Barry yelps and jumps in his seat. Hall tumbles off of his shoulder and bounces onto the floor.

Lup laughs, and leans down. “Shit, sorry Hall, didn’t mean to startle you.” She offers a clothed sleeve for Hall to slither onto. Hall readily accepts, sliding onto Lup’s sleeve and letting Lup deposit her in Barry’s cupped hands.

“It’s alright,” Hall says. “It’s really _Barry’s_ fault for flinching.”

“ _Hall_ ,” Barry says.

“Just be glad I didn’t bite you,” Hall says, and flicks her tongue playfully before wiggling back into Barry’s sleeve. Barry looks up from his daemon. Lup is smiling at him.

“She’s cute,” Lup says.

“Thanks for calling my soul cute,” Barry says. “She did just threaten to murder you.”

Hall is small slip of a snake who likes hiding under Barry’s clothes. She has bright blue scales and a face like a puppy, and is highly, deeply venomous. Lup shrugs theatrically and sits down at the lab bench. “My other half isn’t cute and he threatens to murder me all the time. This is an upgrade.”

“You’re identical,” Barry says.

Lup shakes her head. “ _I’m_ the pretty one.”

“Sure, Lup,” Barry says, and he means it, but tilts the words toward teasing. Lup sticks her tongue out at him. He laughs, and then his brow furrows. “Wait, does this mean—”

Lup shakes her head. “Don’t read too much into it, Bluejeans.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Barry says. Barry’s had three months to get used to the potential of this idea. He’s had about two days of confirmation, that Lup and Taako are two sides of the same entity. They’re both his friends — Taako more than Lup, maybe by a little. Lup is — well. Like he told Hall, it doesn’t quite matter.

“Is it too weird for you?” Lup asks, and she sounds genuinely concerned. She leans toward him.

“No!” Barry protests. “No, I mean, it’s weird, but I mean, not too weird, I like weird, I mean…” He peters out. Lup laughs at him again.

“Yeah, I gotcha.” She punches him lightly in the arm, over his sleeve. “You _dork_.” 

#

Lup opens the door to their berth. It’s dark, and Taako is lying in his bed, reading a book by the light of flickering prestidigitation. He glances up. “Hey,” Taako says.

“Shove over,” Lup says. He scoots over obligingly. Lup squishes in next to him. The bunks on the Starblaster are a little too small to fit two fully grown elves. Although, Lup thinks, technically they’re only _one_ fully grown elf here, along with an oversized daemon.

“I was _reading_ ” Taako says, no heat to his voice.

“Gonna ruin your eyes,” Lup says.

“Gonna ruin _your_ eyes,” he minces back. She kicks him. He kicks back. This devolves into a full-on slap fight that only ends when they both fall off the bunk and onto the floor. Taako snorts. Lup giggles. She gets up and offers Taako a hand which he accepts, letting Lup pull him to his feet.

“They’re taking it pretty well,” Lup says, sitting back on the bed.

“Of course they are,” Taako says, picking up a pillow from the floor. “We’re _us._ Cha’boy wasn’t worried at all.”

“Su-ure,” Lup says, taking the pillow from him and lying down.

Taako picks up the blanket and remaining pillow and throws both on the bunk. “You think we shoulda told them?” Lup makes a noncommittal noise. Taako lies down next to her. She passes him his side of the blanket. He presses his face into the pillow. “Yeah, I dunno either.”

“We can always decide later,” Lup says. She closes her eyes. Taako’s breathing evens out.

For the first time in fifteen years, they sleep in the same bed.

#

Once upon a time there was a little elf who felt like they were alone in the world, which was true. The little elf and the little elf's daemon had no parents and too many relatives and none of them wanted the little elf and the daemon. Too loud, too strange, too smart.

The little elf was lonely. The little elf's daemon was a bird, a smallish dragon, a soft kitten when the little elf needed comforting. They went from caravan to house to farm — they walked down long roads and busy streets, slept in strange attics and beds. They left friends behind. They made new friends. They left those as well. They never knew any sort of permanence except the shape of their own reflected soul.

One day, the little elf woke up, and there were two elves in the bed, and they were not so little anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for WATCHING, GAMERS, please LIKE, COMMENT, AND SMASH THAT SUBSCRIBE BUTTON!!!! 
> 
> wait no for real subscribe if you want updates for this I have finals in a couple weeks so it's gonna be kind of irregular, although it's completely outlined and the next chapter is finished. 
> 
> also leave me a kudos/comment if you feel so inclined (translation: Please Clap, i need that validation) 
> 
> also tell me ur guesses about taako and lup, i want to know.


	2. Griffin — Treasure, Watchfulness, Courage, Sweet Babiest Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a typo in the previous chapter — the alethiometer should have read "thunderbolt, griffin, hourglass," and this has been corrected. Update your predictions accordingly ;) 
> 
> thank you for all your comments! some of you were correct about who the daemon is and some were not, and i had a lot of fun reading your predictions and everything else :D! 
> 
> here is chapter two!

Nobody expects a daemon and their person to have the same personality. A daemon is the truest reflection of the self, and everyone knows that to live is to be a liar. There’s an entire branch of psychology that specializes in daemonic body language, entire schools of thought that theorize on pathologies based on the relationship between person and daemon. 

The platonic, historic ideal of a person-daemon relationship is for the daemon to be subservient to the person. The soul bending to the mind’s will, is the theory. The triumph of nurture over nature. Your character, intrinsically, does not define  _ you _ .

The more modern school of thought argues vehemently against the classical position, charting a course of  _ listening to your truer self _ . That your daemon knows, better than you, what you should be doing. That if you are unhappy, anxious, or depressed, it is because you are alienated from your daemon. 

There are a number of historically documented theories on why that a person might be alienated from their daemon. Abuse. Sexual assault. Psychopathy. There are theories about why a person’s daemon might settle early, or never settle at all. Yet there is no strict science — the same dearth of understanding as to why sleep is necessary for certain races and not others. 

Still, most philosophies agree that in a healthy individual the soul and the body work as one. 

Taako and Lup argue  _ constantly _ . 

It’s a running patter, an almost comforting back-and-forth — Taako took one of Lup’s shirts; Lup thinks Taako should make snickerdoodles instead of sugar cookies; Taako says Lup should move over and let Taako pick what movie they’re going to watch. They argue like siblings, like best friends, not like person and daemon. They spend a significant portion of their waking hours separate. A ninety-foot radius is staggeringly large. 

It’s nothing like the way Hall lets Barry do the talking, or the way I’Morko is an almost one-to-one reflection of Magnus’s emotions, the way Selene flutters nervously when Lucretia is agitated.

It makes it easy to forget that Lup and Taako are a single entity, for their relationships with the other crew members to develop out of sync.

# 

Late night on the Starblaster and Hall and Barry are in the captain’s office. They meant to log some of the data they extracted earlier in the day. Barry is dutifully scribbling, but Hall slithers up Barry’s arm, whispering. 

“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Hall says. 

Barry shakes his head. “It would. What if she found out? We wouldn’t even understand the answers.” 

“I bet Lucretia would ask for us,” Hall says, winding around Barry’s neck. 

He shivers at her cold scales and unwinds her gently. “We’re not asking Lucretia to ask, Hall.” 

“No, we’re asking  _ ourselves _ ,” Hall says. Barry shakes his head. Hall flicks him with her tail. She hisses, a long sigh, before narrowing her eyes. “Well if  _ you _ won’t ask—” 

She darts out of his hand and zips across the desk, zagging between the books, down the chair and across the floor to the pedestal on which the alethiometer is kept. 

“Hall!” Barry says, scrambling after her. She ignores him, slithering up the slim column and flicking the case open to expose the gleaming mechanical device. She coils up around it, her small face close to its face. “Hall  _ no! _ ” 

Hall whispers something to the machine. The alethiometer begins to tick. Barry stumbles at the pedestal and scoops Hall up in his hands. 

She wriggles between his fingers and hisses at him. “Let me  _ see! _ ” 

He doesn’t let her go. She almost bites him. The ticking stops. Hall stops struggling and turns to look at the alethiometer.  

“What did you ask?” Barry asks, trepidation in his voice. 

Hall does the serpent’s equivalent of a shrug. 

“ _ Hall _ ,” Barry says. Hall curls up in Barry’s hands. 

“Whether it was alright,” she admits. “I didn’t ask which of them it was! We’re not  _ that _ awful.”

“I know,” Barry says, although sometimes he wonders. Some of the things he’s seen, studied — he suspects he should be less alright with them than he is. “Sorry I trapped you,” he says. 

“It’s alright,” Hall says, peering down at the alethiometer. “I shouldn’t have asked, maybe.” 

The last symbol the alethiometer alights on: the bird. 

#

"Do something about your stupid crush," Taako says. 

"Don't know what you're talking about," Lup says airily. The tips of her ears are red. 

" _ Do something about your stupid crush or else I will, _ " Taako says. 

#

Surfing is best in the mornings on the Beach World, as they’re all calling it — a fitting name for the planet of small islands and shallow waters. The moon’s orbit makes it so that the waves are largest early in the day and late at night, and Taako’s been forbidden from surfing late at night. It’s very unfair — he thinks it could be fun, but Lup had said “Yeah no, if you drown  _ I _ die, and I am  _ not _ wasting this vacay of a year,” which was unfortunately, reasonable. So he’s stuck waking up early, the first one to rise in the morning.

The beach is close enough to their encampment that Lup can do her own thing if she doesn’t want to watch while Taako catches some waves. She usually does, though, and cheers the particularly good runs. Sometimes she’ll join him, but she actually kind of sucks at keeping her balance, which always makes Taako crack up. 

Then Barry and Hall will wake up, and sit on the beach next to Lup. Taako watches them from his board — the way they sit near each other, the curve of their shoulders tilted toward one another. He thinks they’re both pretty dumb.

When Taako gets tired of surfing, he’ll paddle back to shore and stick his surfboard in the sand. Barry will tell him he looked  _ really _ cool out there, which is always very flattering, and then Lup will leave, and Taako will spend a couple of hours trying to teach Barry how to swim. It’s going okay, Taako thinks. 

Taako normally wouldn’t have the incentive to teach, but he  _ likes _ Barry — the inevitable consequence of Lup’s crush. But he likes Barry on his own merits. Barry and Hall are  _ cool _ , even though Barry’s a big nerd who can’t figure out how to stop getting water in his ears. 

Taako likes to think they’re  _ bonding _ . 

It’s the aftermath of one of these mornings, when they’re staggering out of the shallows, wet and tired, that Taako broaches the question. 

“So,” he says. “ _ Lup _ .” 

“What about Lup?” Barry says, cool as can be except for the fact that Hall has whips her head around to stare at Taako. 

“Why don’t you want her watchin’? It’s not like she doesn’t  _ know _ about this, she’s  _ me _ ,” Taako says, wringing water out of his hair. He keeps wading out of the water.

Barry looks concertedly down at the sand, his face growing redder. “I just think, you know, it’s like all, all of you… I don’t wanna be — I don’t wanna embarrass myself in front of, and I mean, I know you’re  _ technically _ her, and she’s technically you, but it’s like, well, I don’t—” 

Taako cuts him off, but not unkindly. “Uh-huh, I see where you’re going with this. You ever heard the term ‘locked in?’” 

“No?”

Taako nods. “That’s right, cause I made it up. It’s like kind of when a wave crashes and the surfer is inside it.” He gestures vaguely with his hands. “You’re locked in and this wave’s crashin’ all around you, my man, and I don’t begrudge you, any of that, you know?  We’ve lost a lot, and there’s more that we might lose, but the one thing that we do have is the thing that people in love rarely ever have enough of, and it’s time.” 

“Oh I don’t know about,” Barry stutters. “I don’t know about  _ in love _ . It’s only been…”

“Twenty-one years,” Hall says helpfully.

“Sure,” Taako says. “ _ Sure. _ It’s not love. Definitely not love. That’s why your face is like, a tomato.” 

“Shit,” says Barry. 

Taako laughs. He stops walking, standing on the edge of the wet sand. Barry stops as well, though he looks as though he wants to sprint away from this conversation. Hall, on the other hand, just looks curious. 

“Hey listen,” Taako says. “Barry, I—” He pauses. Barry Bluejeans. Sorta chunky, sunburns easily, stutters when he’s nervous. Never wears formalwear. Kind, ridiculously smart, determined.

Taako steps closer. “You’ve got all the time in the world, my man,” he says. “She’ll say yes.”

And, dartlike, Taako reaches forward and gives Barry a quick clap on his shoulder, shivering as he presses his hand against the warm skin. 

#

“They’re not doing anything about their stupid crush!” Taako says. 

“I  _ know _ ,” Hall says.

“Well, cha’boy tried his best,” Taako says. “This is on  _ them _ now.” 

#

The years pass. Or rather, the same year passes again and again, each year on a different world with the same goal. Read the alethiometer to see if it changes — it never does — then try to find the Light before the Hunger can. Try to learn about it, try — and fail — to stop the consumption of another world. Merle and Marguerite tell them about John, about how there is no daemon next to him and Merle isn’t sure whether it’s because John is an  _ alien _ or because its been eaten up by the black mass that is the Hunger.

The same year in infinite passing. A wealth of time, enough for uncertainty to fade, for the inevitability of love to outweigh fear.

In the amphitheatre of a planet they’ll never return to, Barry and Lup play a duet that is broadcast to the universe, a song about longing and cautious fondness, the blossoming of fondness into care, of care into love. 

When it is over, they put their instruments down and look at each other. Somewhere close in the crowd, Taako is pretending not to wipe a tear. Sitting on the piano, Hall is watching with wide eyes. The crowd is cheering for the performance, but they’re deaf to their cries.

Lup reaches for Barry, and he reaches for her, and for the first time in sixty-five years, they touch.

#

“Alright, Barry and Lup are dating,  _ pony up _ ,” Magnus says.

“What? No! It’s not conclusive,” Merle protests. 

“Oh, c’mon, it’s pretty clear that  _ Taako’s _ the daemon, if Barry and Lup are dating,” Magnus says. 

“He could be dating the daemon half! Weirder things have happened!” Merle says. “I knew one guy who—” 

“ _ Shh! _ ” Marguerite says. “ _ They’re coming down the hall! _ ” 

#

The problem is that as the crew learns about John, John learns about them. Even after Merle stops conversing with the man, the black mass of the Hunger chases them down, year after year, and each encounter is an opportunity to  _ learn _ . 

John learns that it’s easier to target a daemon than its person, that separating the daemon from the person leads to the death of both parties, that if he wants a quick fight, the soul is the weakest link. 

And he absorbs each new world they fail to save, growing heavier with constellation, manifesting new types of bodies, new weapons, new tactics.

The fights get harder. The crew of the Starblaster starts each year increasingly wearied, though their bodies are restored to their original forms. It’s almost worse, the way that they are a slate wiped clean. No evidence of the previous year left behind, of  _ any _ of the years left behind, like all the  _ shit _ that happened to them was just some sort of waking dream. 

It drives a woman to desperate measures. 

#

Taako isn’t used to not knowing why Lup needs something from him, and he’s definitely not used to her telling him that he can’t know why yet. That’s not how daemon-person bonds  _ work. _ They’re still two halves of the same whole, even if they’re a little weird about it. Secrets don’t come into their experience of each other.

But then Lup walks into their bedroom and tells him, earnest and weirdly serious, that he needs to give her — them — a really great day. The  _ best _ day. 

So Taako does, because when the other half of your self asks you something in that tone of voice, you listen. It’s a fun request, anyway, he isn’t complaining about spending a day  _ trying _ to have a really good time. When Lup is happy, he’s happy. 

After dinner, Lup puts down her silverware. “You did good, Taako,” she says. She looks down at her plate, like she’s trying to hide her expression from him. Like Lup doesn’t want him to know what she’s thinking, and it scares Taako, because that’s the other half of his self, they’re not  _ supposed _ to have secrets,  _ what is she hiding? _

“Lup?” he says. She looks back up at him. 

“Sorry,” she says. “I’m just… figuring out how to say this. I don’t think I’m asking  _ permission _ here, but it’s kinda, well, it’s kind of a  _ you  _ problem, because you’re  _ me,  _ and vice versa and whatever, and it feels sorta fucked to just make this decision  _ for  _ you, but—” 

“Just spit it out,” Taako says. “It can’t be  _ that _ bad.” 

“ _ BarryandIaregoingtobecomeliches _ ,” she says, and then, “Don’t freak out, okay, it’s not—”

“What?” Taako says, standing. “ _ What?! _ ”

Liches are not so much magical creatures as they are mythical abominations — beings of raw power who were once people. Lichdom is immortality at cost of your soul. There are historical records of people killing their own daemons to fuel the ritual, and more about how the resulting monstrosities were stopped and put to rest. In the restricted sections of their University library, there were detailed accounts of how the rituals were done. Nothing in them was anything short of a war crime. 

Taako stares at Lup like he’s looking at a stranger, like he’s scared of her. “Are you saying — are you  _ really _ sugges—” 

“No!” Lup says, abruptly horrified. “No, not that, I wouldn’t hurt you, I  _ couldn’t _ , let me finish —  _ Taako. _ ”

The way she says his name that prompts him to sit back down. Lup looks shaken. Normally he would comfort her, but right now, Taako’s not sure he wants to touch her. 

“Me and Barry figured it out,” Lup explains. “The transformation requires a crazy amount of Dust, that’s why it’s usually killing, you know, murder — that. When a daemon dies there’s always that burst of Dust, and that’s what necromancers use, but  _ that’s not the only source _ .”

“Oh yeah? Where else are you gonna get that much of it?” Taako says, because he knows the math too. A daemon de-coalescing is one of the largest-magnitude Dust sources. 

Lup writes the math out in glittering red minor illusion across the dinner table. 

Dust is functionally a measure of lived experience, of novelty, of  _ consciousness, _ and they’ve all traveled across decades of universes. There’s a reason why everyone’s spells have become more powerful. Their unique situation, all the worlds they’ve seen, the discoveries that they’ve made and the problems they’ve solved — a linear, upward trend of Dust coalescing around all of them. Love, which is knowledge over time, which is the weight of the years they’ve spent together, the strength of their connection growing exponentially. And the last good day, functioning as an anchor for everything else, Dust and power spiraling out. 

There’s just enough, if Lup’s math is correct — and Lup’s math is always correct. 

“Huh,” Taako says.

“It’s not going to change us, okay?” Lup says, reaching over the table to hold his hand tightly, like a vise, like the connection between them is a physical bond and not Dust. “You’re my heart, and that’s something that can’t be lost, or broken, or taken away — not by  _ anything _ .” 

#

On the day of the ritual, Taako watches Barry and Lup from a few yards away, holding Hall, who is at the edge of her and Barry’s radius. Hall said he didn’t have to keep her company if Taako wanted to stand further back, but Taako shook his head and sat down on the dry grass edging the clearing. Hall slithered onto his knee and they both pretended that they weren’t nervous at all. 

In the clearing, on the hilltop, Barry and Lup are finishing drawing the chalk lines on the ground. It’s a complex circle meant to draw Dust into a specified pattern, which should theoretically be enough to fuel the transformation.  

“Alright,” Barry says, dusting chalk off his hands. “I think we’re ready.”

“Okay,” Lup says. “Let’s fire her up.” She looks over at Taako and Hall. “You guys good?” she calls. 

Taako gives her a thumbs up that he doesn’t feel. Hall raises her voice to reply. “We’re good!”

“Okay!” Barry calls back, and turns to Lup. They embrace for a long moment, and draw apart before leaning toward one another again for a brief, tender kiss. 

When they break apart, Lup takes Barry’s face in her hands, and she says, “You ready? Are— are you sure you’re gonna be able to keep it together, once you turn?” 

Barry smiles, and he looks back at the love of his life and says, “Yeah, I got this.”

Bright golden light begins to emanate from the space between where her hands touch his face, from the lines drawn on the ground. A rush of wind comes out of nowhere, and for a brief moment, the Dust that pools around all living things, all sentient beings, is visible without a piece of specialized equipment — as if this is someone’s death, as if the curtains between the planes has been peeled away.

Their bodies fall to the ground, but the Dust remains, changing in color and coalescing into hooded forms that shudder with arcs of red lightning that smooth into red cloth. And it would have been the scariest thing Taako has ever seen, except the moment the ritual starts, it feels like there’s acid bubbling under his skin — as if he is untethered and stretched out, like he’s free-floating and there’s nothing  _ holding _ him, and for the first time in over a decade he shifts forms, twitching rapidly from bird to beast to gasping fish and back to elf, unsettled again like when him and Lup were  _ children. _

And then he topples over, prone and still on the grass, Hall limp beside him.

Death has been described by some scholars as the greatest form of separation. 

#

When Lup is a lich, there is nothing to anchor Taako anymore — no resonance to keep him looking like himself. He can transform as easily as breathing, just like when they were kids. 

#

Once upon a time there was a little daemon who liked being a bird, because he knew that one day his person was going to be a grown-up wizard, and he thought he might as well get the practice in. He liked flying and perching on the brim of her hat and arguing with her. He liked reading her textbooks over her shoulder as a little capuchin. He liked being a small dragonling and breathing puffs of flame at the other kids' daemons.

He often felt lonely, because she was lonely, because when she was younger she had been misunderstood (boys clothing, the wrong pronouns), because she moved too often to make lasting friends, because she was smarter than everyone around her and the adults didn't appreciate that.  

One day, the little daemon woke up, and he was no longer a little daemon, but a grown-up elf, and his person was staring at him, scared and surprised, and neither of them were quite so little anymore.

#

“I’m going to go pick some apples,” Taako says. There’s an overgrown orchard a few miles from where the Starblaster is parked.

Lup gets up automatically. “Alright,” she says, “Lemme grab my—”

“No,” Taako cuts her off. “ _ I’m _ going.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> let me know what you thought im in the middle of studying for finals and desperately crave validation and the sweet dopamine rush of getting an ao3 comment notification in my email, its a high like no other


	3. Hourglass — Time, Death, Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako’s not mad. He’s just avoiding Lup because he feels like having some Taako time, and it’s easier to do that now that they’re separated, and this is completely, definitely unrelated to the whole lich thing, which he’s absolutely not mad about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s'been a while, huh? 
> 
> the thiccest of thanks for tazscripts — ganked some of griffo's dialogue for this one.

Taako’s not mad. He’s just avoiding Lup because he feels like having some _Taako_ time, and it’s easier to do that now that they’re separated, and this is completely, definitely unrelated to the whole lich thing, which he’s absolutely not mad about. He explains this to Hall, who had silently slipped into his bag and joined him when Taako snuck out of the Starblaster to go fishing.

He says snuck because Lup has been playing cat and mouse with him, as in, he _knows_ that she wants to talk with him, she keeps popping up when he’s just minding his own business and then he has to scramble for an excuse to leave, and she keeps looking really _guilty_ but that’s a _Lup_ problem, not a _Taako_ problem. She probably wants to apologize or something.

Taako doesn’t _want_ an apology. He gets it. John Hunger, firepower, liches. It makes sense, they’re in a dangerous position, they’re _always_ in a dangerous position. Him and Lup are practical. Taako’s just, you know, avoiding Lup.

“Sounds like you’re mad at her,” Hall says sweetly after Taako explains. She’s curled around his shoulders like a thin blue necklace, near enough for her voice to carry.

“No one asked!” Taako says. “I’m gonna use you for bait.”

Hall tightens around his neck, chastising. Taako flicks her tail. She loosens her hold. “It’d be perfectly reasonable for you to be mad at Lup.”

“I don’t _wanna_ be mad at Lup,” Taako says. “Not saying I _am_ , but hypothetically, if cha’boy _was_ , it would be weird and bad, and I wouldn’t like it.”

“Why?” Hall asks. “You two argue all the time, it never sticks.”

Taako shrugs, which Hall feels against her scales rather than sees. “That’s different. That’s just arguing. This is like… I dunno, I can _go_ places without her.”

Taako doesn’t know how to explain that he’s never been actually mad at Lup. They’re a unit, even when they’re not. All the bickering is for show, it’s a way to pass the time, it’s a habit they picked up because it’s strange if siblings don’t fight with one another, and they’re not siblings they’re _one_ person except now Lup is a lich and Taako can go wherever he wants and maybe he doesn’t like any of this at all. Maybe Lup doesn’t like any of this at all? This is confusing, and normally he’d tell Lup about this so she could nod thoughtfully and interpret their feelings, but he doesn’t _want_ to do that now.

Taako sighs. He watches the fishing line move in the current. “How come you’re not mad?” he asks, nonchalant except for the set of his jaw. Hall shifts a little on his shoulder.

“We settled as a venomous snake,” Hall points out. “It’s not like we don’t know what we’re like.”

Taako snorts. He can’t deny that. He scowls at the river. He doesn’t want to talk about this.

“You just want me to make up with her,” Taako accuses. “Bet Barry put you up to this.”

Hall slithers up Taako’s neck and curves around the shell of his ear. “Barry doesn’t know I’m here,” she says, followed by the susurrus of her laughter.  

#

“I’m not mad at you,” Taako announces, collapsing against her on the sofa.

“Taako!” Lup says, because she’s surprised to see him. He’s been avoiding her. She’s been feeling guilty. “I mean, you should be, I think I really fucked us u—”

“Sh-hhhh,” he says, sticking his hand in her face. “I _was_ mad at you and now I’m not.”

Lup removes his hand from her face. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I think Hall is still mad at —”

“We’re not _Barry Bluejeans,_ Lup,” Taako says, and his tone of faux-disgust is what finally makes her laugh, the knot in her chest loosening. Taako’s always been confusing, but she knows what forgiveness looks like. “Cha’boy was mad, and now I’m not mad, and I’m not going to explain any further.”

“I thought daemons were supposed to explain their people’s emotions,” Lup teases.

Taako scoffs, and pokes her side. “Since when have we done what we’re supposed to do?”

“Fair,” Lup says. “Got me there.”

They sit in companionable silence for a moment. Sitting alone without talking isn’t something they do much, Lup reflects. Taako shifts so his legs are on her lap.

“It feels different,” he says, and she knows he’s not just talking about the way skin contact between them feels now. Before it was like… a feedback loop of same-same. Now there’s a little bit of distance. But he’s also talking about how the tether between them feels not broken...but stretched. Like it’s been pared down to the thinnest version of itself. It doesn’t feel fragile, though. But it feels like something deeply, profoundly changed.

“Is it bad?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “No, s’just weird. Guess I’ll get used to it.” He hesitates, and then continues speaking. “But I think I’m gonna keep going places on my own.”

Lup nods, “Yeah,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. This is what she deserves. “Yeah, if you want.”

#

The Hunger comes that year like it always does, a voluminous dripping of black columns studded with color, armies made out of void. But this time, Lup is different. Lup can slip out of her skin into a being of molten flame and necromantic energy. This time, as the Starblaster screams across the sky, she winks at Taako and steps backward off the deck. This time, there’s no flurry of gold sparks. Taako doesn’t collapse into a flutter of Dust. Lup rises from the ground, a red-robed specter.

Taako whoops, even though Lup can’t hear him from where she is. And he realizes that _he_ feels different now. He feels… malleable. Changeable. Untethered, like who _Lup_ is has no bearing on what _Taako_ is. Just like the first time Lup transformed. And he wonders…

He might be the pragmatic one, but Taako is _Lup’s_ soul. He takes a running jump into the air just as Lup blows up one of the columns into a pillar of roaring flame, and instead of an elf, a gleaming gold dragon larger than the Starblaster flies out of the explosion.

They’re going to have a lot of explaining to do next year, Taako thinks, and laughs as he goes careening into the Hunger, breathing magical fire ahead of him.

#

Two years later, Taako dies. Lup doesn’t.

It happens while they’re skimming through a tropical archipelago trying to find the location of the Light. There are a hundred tiny little settlements on these islands, and some of the locals swear that they saw “something like a meteor” land in the shallows a few months ago. Only problem is that the current’s probably moved it from there.

It’s supposed to be a cakewalk, as much as finding the Light is ever a cakewalk. Taako and Lup had successfully snagged this mission because they look the most like the local population — they’re all elves, and everyone else on the Starblaster would stick out like a sore thumb. So Taako and Lup got the beach vacay.

In the small skiff they bought at the larger port town, the twins sail between islands and sunbathe and fish and chat with the locals over meals cooked over campfires.

It’s a lot like their childhood, except a thousand times better. It’s good. They haven’t had a lot of _me_ time lately, and they push each other off the boat into the warm water and stay up late talking and make terrible cooking crimes that they dare each other to try.

Then Taako dies. It’s an accident, which is the worst part, the sort of accident that could have been avoided had they known more about the area, were they not perennial foreigners, had they just known what to ask about, the locals would have told them.

There’s a storm. This is a world beset by typhoons that occur on a semi-regular schedule, only predictable by the sudden drop in temperature, the changing color of the sky. It’s assumed that everyone knows about them — don’t be out on the open seas if you can avoid it, and definitely don’t be on a small boat unless you’re suicidal.

The rain, the howling wind, it all crashes into their skiff and batters it around, and there’s lightning and crashing waves taller than they are, spray across the deck, Taako running around trying to secure things, Lup trying to keep the boat from capsizing, and then the snap of a rope and Taako scrambling across the deck and the water pouring across the deck like a flood and Lup feels rather than sees the moment when Taako goes overboard and there’s a sensation like a thinly stretched rope snapping and —

The storm passes.

The sun on this planet gives off a hot, white, light. Lup lies on the deck, and imagines Taako’s body sinking as if he was made out of matter and not Dust, as if he hasn’t dissipated into fine golden sand, and she wants to de-coalesce herself, necromantic energy rising from _her_ meat, and she wonders how the fuck she’s going to get through a year without her soul.

#

But she does. And each time he dies without her after that — fortunately few and far between — each time it gets easier.

#

When they get to Faerun, it’s like walking into a warped mirror of their original universe. The climate is the same, the ecology is nearly identical, the magic synchronous, and there’s the same racial balance as their home plane. There’s one difference: nobody has daemons.

Everyone walks around with their soul squarely in their chest. It would be shocking for the crew, had they not traversed through ninety-eight other universes. Still, it’s strange to be somewhere that so closely resembles their past except in all the ways that matter.

#

Selene comes flying in to the common room before Lucretia arrives, wings fluttering all agitated, making everyone turn to look because it’s rare to see Selene so far from Lucretia, or so flustered.

“You guys good?” Taako asks, turning from the television. Him and Magnus and I’morko are watching an old animated movie while waiting for this year’s briefing — aka family meeting — to start. “Thought we weren’t starting ‘til five.”

“The alethiometer changed,” Selene says, landing on Taako’s head. “We asked it _the question_ —”

“—and the alethiometer changed,” Lucretia says, sounding urgent and out of breath. Taako’s eyes widen. Magnus stands up.

“Come see,” Lucretia says, and the boys scramble to follow her, I’morko loping behind them, down the hall — calling to Barry, Hall and Lup in Barry’s bedroom, _the alethiometer’s changed!_ , Merle and Margie, sleeping on the couch in the medbay woken up by their yelling — and then the whole crew is stumbling through the door to the alethiometer where Davenport is peering at the alethiometer with Zeph folded awkwardly next to him, and he looks up and says: “Lucretia, ask it again, please?”

Lucretia takes a deep breath and walks over to the alethiometer, sitting heavily at the chair in front of it. Selene flutters down to sit on the table next to her, watching the alethiometer closely with her compound eyes.

“How do we defeat the Hunger?” Lucretia asks, and the golden dial on the alethiometer begins to spin. Everyone holds their breath.

Thunderbolt, Griffin... _Anchor._ They stare at that last little symbol.

“The last sign,” Lup says, “it’s changed?”

“I think it’s changed since we arrived on this plane,” Lucretia says. “It used to be hourglass. Every time before this it’s been hourglass. That’s the first time in a _hundred years_.”

“What does that mean?” Magnus asks.

“It means that things are different now, right?” Taako asks. “Means that something’s changed?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what,” Lucretia says. “We haven’t done anything different yet, I don’t think.”

“We haven’t,” Davenport says. “But maybe it means that we need to.”

“What does the anchor mean?” Merle asks, cutting right to the heart of the matter. Lucretia frowns and flips open her notebook.

“The anchor,” she says. “Its top-level meaning is hope.”

#

Descriptions of war on their home planet all speak of daemons bursting into golden Dust rising above the corpses and slaughter. There’s a particularly poetic phrase in _The_ _Iliad_ that talks about Dust like a golden river, so thick that it blinded the warriors, who were forced to put down their weapons, unable to fight without their sight.

On Faerun, battlefields are just blood and meat. From the Starblaster, all they can see is the red drying to rust, no sight of a soul anywhere. Just the aftermath of their decision to split the Light into separate artifacts. Their presence on the world sowing discord across the continent.

“I think we interpreted the alethiometer wrong,” is all Lup says about it, quietly, to Taako, sitting on the deck and staring at another aftermath of carnage, because there’s no telling your soul a secret — he knows.

He shrugs. Apathetic. “Well, it’s either us or John.”

“ _Taako,_ ” she says, because if it’s his thought, it’s her thought, and that means his lack of care is _hers_ , and this is _her fault,_ because splitting the Light was her idea.

It drives a woman to desperate measures.

#

When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair. But most are just unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy.

There are a thousand small steps that Taako and Lup took away from one another. It would be easy to blame their separation on Lup — her lichdom, their physical separation, her single-minded determination. It is unfair to call them a single entity.

But Taako is the one who settled as an elf. The one that insisted on pretending to be a person after settling. What Lup wants is what Taako wants is what Lup wants. He’s Lup’s and she’s Taako’s and it would be unfair _not_ to call them separate entities.

So, if we believed in hard truths, if we believed in inevitability, if we believed in the collapsing singularity of decisions piled upon decisions, each taken independently of one another, _if we were being fair_ , we could call Lup’s disappearance a foregone conclusion.

After all, the heart wants what the heart wants.

#

The square footage of Lucretia’s cabin on the Starblaster is much smaller than it originally was. When she boarded the ship, she only had one bookshelf, and there was no alien jellyfish tank taking up half the room. Now, Fisher bobs cheerfully in his tank and all the walls are lined with bookshelves filled with textbooks, novels, handwritten journals, records of their adventures — their failures, their victories. The true telling of it is an entire _library._

She’s still condensed it into one thick tome. An abbreviated story, their entire lives reduced to a single written account. Lucretia and Selene have already made up their mind on what to do with it.

The last page is blank. Lucretia’s hand hesitates with her pen. She’s never written down what she’s thinking about right now — Lup’s request, a whole lifetime ago.

“I don’t know,” she says. “It might be cruel, I think.”

“It would be crueler to leave the memory, wouldn’t it?” Selene says, fluttering onto Lucretia’s arm. “If everything else was erased but her… how would he make sense of it? Daemons don’t exist here.”

“ _Would_ he make sense without Lup?” Lucretia asks. “He might not act like it, Selene, but he’s still…”

“He doesn’t act like it,” Selene says, and it’s not cruel, but matter of fact. “And if he doesn’t remember her, he’ll _keep_ not acting like it. If he does, he’ll…”

The months since Lup left have been something of an escalating deterioration for Taako. The first week, he had been annoyed but complacent, complaining about how Lup _sucks_ at explaining things. But the weeks rolled onwards, and he grew grim and pale-faced, going on missions with Barry to look for her, culminating in the jagged blowout argument in the common room — _If you hadn’t become liches with her SHE WOULDN’T HAVE LEFT ME, SHE WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN ABLE TO LEAVE —_ that only ended when Taako abruptly shifted form into a snake as Hall hissed at him, and that’s how they knew Lup had died.

He was quiet after that. Quiet and determined. Working himself and Barry to the bone.

Lucretia nods, grimacing. “It’ll only be for a little while,” she reasons.

“Only until we get the relics back,” Selene says.

Lucretia puts pen to paper.

#

“Go check on Barry,” Hall says, slithering across Taako’s side and up on his neck, settling near his ear.

“Wuh?” Taako says, blinking awake, patting his face to dislodge Hall from his person. He’s curled up in Barry and Lup’s bed, which is somehow more welcoming than his own and quieter than taking a nap in the living room.

Daemons sleep when their person sleeps. Or at least normal daemons do — him and Hall are untethered from Lup and Barry’s respective sleep cycles. When Lup’s a lich, Taako has found that he can stay awake for days without feeling anything more than the slightest twinge of needing to slumber. He’s tried, but when Lup realized what he was doing, she yelled at him to go to sleep, and he pointed out that it seemed to be unnecessary, and she said something about brain chemistry, and Taako accidentally self-dunked and said that he technically didn’t have a brain, which meant that Lup won the argument and Taako had to lie down and take a nap.

Lup’s been gone for months. Hall has mostly taken over making-Taako-sleep duty, so it’s a surprise that she’s waking him.

“Go check on Barry. He’s falling asleep outside,” Hall says again, sliding between Taako’s fingers and winding around his arm.

“ _I_ was sleeping,” Taako complains, but yawns and gets out of bed. “Why’s Barry sleeping on deck?”

“I don’t think it’s on purpose,” Hall says. “Besides, you’re taking his bed.”

“Sharing is caring,” Taako says. Hall flicks her tongue in amusement.

Above deck, Barry has a table set up with all their maps and calculations — locations of the last glassings, locations with abnormally high magical energy ratings, cross-referencing between the energy the relics give out and the passive necromantic energy that Lich-Lup emits. Also, he’s got his head pillowed on his arms. There’s a crease in his forehead that didn’t use to be there.

Lup would smooth out the forehead wrinkle if she were here. Taako shakes his shoulder and says, “How’s it goin?”

Barry jerks awake, almost hitting Taako. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to — It’s, well, it’s going, I found there’s a… there's a dungeon out beyond the Felicity Wilds? It's a… subterranean… demonic keep… thing. There’s a bunch of arcane energy coming off of it. I was gonna check it out tonight, if you wanna come with.”

“Sure, yeah,” Taako says, awkward. Things have been weird between him and Barry ever since the big argument that neither of them are talking about. Taako doesn’t really _do_ apologies, and he doesn’t feel like apologizing anyway. Hall has been sticking close to Taako rather than Barry ever since, though, and Taako’s not sure what that means. He asked Hall, and she just said that the two of them shouldn’t fight, and Barry’s not mad. “Close to the last glassing?”

Barry nods, gesturing to the map, and Taako leans over to look at all the readings. It’s almost like everything is normal except for the fact that Lup isn’t here.

Taako’s used to Lup not being around. They’re no longer tethered together, and there have been times when they’ve spent weeks apart, on separate missions, but there was always the promise of homecoming. Even when she was a lich she was around, and before that, when she died, he died. Despite all his play-acting at being self-sufficient — which has admittedly fallen apart, the longer she’s gone — Taako is defined by Lup’s presence. As she changes, so does he. He’s the representation of her truest self. _That’s what a daemon is_.

And she left. He’s going to yell at her so much when he finds her, Taako thinks. He peers at the spot Barry is pointing at. “Yeah, it seems like a good a place as any. Do you want to do the usual? I’ll go down and start casting around, see if I can pick up anything, and then- you start talking to folks?”

Barry nods. **“** Yep. That’s uh, I mean it hasn’t worked so far, but… it’s gotta work one of these times.”

He pauses, and for a moment there’s just the rush of wind rustling the papers before he says abruptly, “Taako, what if she’s just gone?”

Taako frowns. “Who?”

Barry looks up. He stands, and he grips Taako’s arm. “Taako, I’m—”

“What if who’s gone?” Taako says, because he doesn’t know what Barry’s talking about. Nobody is missing? Where would they even be missing from? He feels like he’s forgetting something important. It’s one the tip of his tongue, and Barry’s panicking so Taako puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him, and Hall is hissing and she’s too tight around Taako’s forearm.

“Oh, god, Lup— Taako, I’m, _I can’t remember her face,_ Taako. Taako, where—”

“ _Whose face?_ ” Taako says, because somehow, this feels important, this feels more important than anything he’s ever asked, but it’s all slipping away and he can’t remember it so it mustn’t be all that important—

“Is this Fisher?” Hall hisses, and Barry’s eyes widen. “Taako, k—kill me! Right now! I’ll—I’ll remember if I’m a lich, I can—please, Taako, just kill me! It’ll—I’ll be okay! I can’t forget, I’m, I’m, begging you, _please,_ Taako! Please!”

Taako pulls out his wand and points it on Bar̸̹͇̦͂̂̎r̵̯̜̮̂y̶̫̅̉͂’s sternum and shoots a ninth-level magic missile at his chest, because B̷̨̟̰̮̥̟̹̓ͅa̷̖̼̩̭̲̰͌ͅͅr̷̮͍̬̜̤̺̯̫̗̣̱̹͗͌r̶̨̰̔̅̇̏̇̓̔̽̉͐̑͠y̵̛̰̠͖͓̺̱͍͈͛́͌̇̅̀͛̈́̓̈͋͂͝ asked him to and the man is smiling as he falls off the railing of the ship. The recoil knocks Taako to his knees. The snake wrapped around his arm is hissing something fierce. Why is there a snake on his arm? Why is he kneeling here?

“Where am I?” Taako asks the snake, though he doesn’t know why, and the snake uncurls itself from around his arm and tucks herself into his pocket as if to hide, and she’s still hissing but she says, “It’s going to be okay, Taako,” like she cares about him.

“Why are you talking?” he asks, because he’s pretty sure snakes can’t usually talk. His head feels strange.  
  
“It’s going to be okay,” she says again, and then quietly, urgently, she says, “Taako, go find Fisher, it’s important, go now, Taako, pl—”

But he’s falling to the deck, and he doesn’t know where he is, and he doesn’t know how he got here, and he—

#

Once upon a time there was a ̸l̵i̷t̸t̷l̵e̶ ̴d̴a̷e̶m̷o̸n̵ ̶w̴h̵o̸ ̷l̶i̴k̴e̷d̵ ̴b̴e̵i̷n̷g̸ ̶a̶ ̸b̶̞̉i̶̺͝ṙ̵̘d̴̟̋,̷̝̈ ̶͎͂b̶̯̓ê̴͇c̸̬͝ä̸͖́u̶̺̕s̴̘̉e̵̠̔ ̷͖̌h̸͓́ě̸̫ ̸̻͗k̴̢̊ň̸̹e̸̔ͅw̸̖̿ ̴̲͐ť̸͖h̴̬̕ǎ̷̻ṫ̸̻ ̶̛͔o̷̪̽n̸͇̎ě̶̪ ̴̮̈ḍ̷̀a̵̮̍ÿ̵̝ ̷͔͂h̸̼̅ǐ̷͉s̵͙ ̸͙͠p̸̘͋ḛ̴͋ṛ̶̏s̷͕͑o̵̝̕n̸̳̄ ̶̳̿w̷͑ͅa̵̼̿s̶̗̏ ̷̱̑g̸̪̾ô̴̫i̶̤̓ǹ̸̫g̷͎͝ ̵͎̆t̴́͜o̸̺̓ ̶͙͗b̵̨̆e̷͚̿ ̶̉͜a̶͐͜ ̴̬͊ǵ̵̪r̴͈̆o̷͈͋w̵͓͑n̶̬̕-̴̪̕û̷̪p̸̲̈́ ̵̙͐ẅ̸͖́i̷̦͋z̴͎͑a̷̹̓r̵̨̾d̸̟͂,̵̗ ̶̲͛a̵̗̚n̸͎͝d̷̜̓ ̶̪̌h̵͕̊ȩ̷̚ ̷̛̙ț̷͠h̶͙͗o̸̗̕u̴̖̓ĝ̴̗ȟ̵̖t̸͍͆ ̷͈́h̴͓̎e̵̟͌ ̴͈̈m̷̞̆i̴̻͊ģ̴͒h̴̿ͅṫ̷̞ ̸ ̴̡̫̼͓̃͋̍͗͑̚a̷̲̬͌̌̑̄s̶̙̘͈̤̃ ̴̠̅̓̈̉̚͠w̷̢͉͉̞̐͘͜ḛ̷̢̧͓͚̔̄̎̏̿̓l̵̺͖̥͉͒͊͝l̵̬̍͛̓̈͌͠ ̴͔̗͈͖͐͛̅g̶͑̄̎é̷̡͚̖̲̽̂̕͜ţ̷͖̬̅̓ ̷͚̝̰̳͋͋͗͌̈́ͅt̴̢̥̺̲̰͗̆̒͠͠h̷̢̛̟̼̖̹̪͗̽e̴͖̎̄̊ ̷̛̥̰̻̥̤̒̉̄͝p̷̤̅͘r̵̪̿͋̆a̸͔͈̠͖̾̓͘͜c̶̩̫͔̺̬̓̄̎t̴͈͕͓̭̫̓̏̐̐ỉ̷̧̢̧̜̹̒͗̆c̵̼̲̔̒̓͝ͅẹ̵̯̰͗́̔͗̋͗ ̴̲̜̎̌͌̔i̷̠͛̄n̵͓̯͌͐̿ͅ.̷͉̰̲̹̲͐̉ ̷̡͖̖̺͎͊̉͋̕̚͜͝H̸̡̩̻̓e̴̪͍̟͉̓ ̴̡̠̼̺̔̽ḻ̶̮̝̾̐̾͂i̵̬̎k̷̦͇̉̒̍͛̕ē̷̘̊͐̕͠d̸̢͉͎̋͑̂̏̅̽͜ ̷̞͇̍̄̔̽̕f̸̞͚͊̿ͅͅl̶̜̃ẙ̴̧̞̥̪͂̎̒̆i̷͕͇̟͇̓̐̏̐͒ͅn̷̜̹̮̣̳͘g̵̞͎̭̣͉̹̍̌ ̸̝̥̳̖̅̉â̸̧̱̗̑̂͘n̸͇̈̾͋̈́͑d̵͓́͋̆̚ ̴̡̱͙͋̎p̸̗̠͕͛̉e̶͇̤̜̭̠̓̆́̕͝ͅr̶̛̺̟̽c̵̡̣̭̱̈́͑̅͠ḧ̴̛̲͚͚͋̏̚i̵̪͘ͅͅṋ̴͖͙͙̋̾̅͐͗̚g̵̮̰̜̋͐̊ ̸͇̼̋͋̆͂̂o̶̼̓n̷̩̰̺͎̹̂̉̌̊ ̸͓͠t̵̡̳̒̂̓̈́̄ḫ̶̤͙̘̊̃e̴͍̮͋̔͂͂̆͠ ̸͎̻̪̩̍͜b̷̠͎̒̈͝r̴̹̍̈í̷̞̯̜̣̫̌͑͜͝m̴͇̅ ̴̛̳̩̂͘̚ŏ̶̜͖̞̘̘͕̔͠f̵̫͔͖̽ ̷̼͍͙̣̓̈̓̈́̆͜h̶̻̲͉͐͑͜͝ȅ̶̩̬̼̜̿̎͒͗r̵͉͔̀ ̶̺̘̻̇͊̈h̵̛͙͍̃͌̅͌̃a̵̩̪͖͚̕t̷̝̔̊̔̉͊ ̸̭̆̂a̷̟̟̚n̸̢̰̼̟͉͚̔d̴͎͍̜͔̓͗̾͘͝ ̶̝͈̭̺̍͌̃ǎ̷͍̬̈̈́̀̏̕r̸̙̬̫̾͊̉̓̿͘g̵̛̞͙̱̹̝̼̽͊̃͒͠ų̸̗͚̄̅̍̑i̶̩͓͑ņ̶̖̟͇͉́͑̕g̸̰̾ ̵̗̫̬̝͛w̴̳͇̮͖͕̄͋̓̔i̵̥̤̹͐ẗ̸̲́̀̃̈̽͝ẖ̷̣̏̌ ̸̥̣͓̐͋̑͘̕ḩ̶͇̘̱̍e̴̤̠̞͂́͗̈́̚͜͠r̵̳̩͔̜͆͒̈́͠.̴͎͖̖̙̱̿͜ ̸̧̯̮͒̆̎H̷͙̅̈́̅̍̈́e̸̫̘͍̺̤̩͗̂͂ ̵̭̂͗́͐͗l̶̻̟̤͓̆̎͆̾̏ͅi̸̬̮̥̐̓̍͛̏k̶̪͖̈́̊̄̊̈́ẹ̴͖͈̟̏ͅd̶͚͠ ̶̤͆͗ŕ̸͇̜͕̪͉̰e̷͖͉̲̗͘ā̶͍̠̣̞͉̣͛̾̄̀d̸͈̫̝̈̐̄͊̂i̶̛̤̻͖͖͈̜̒̇n̷̡̼̜͔̓͘͝g̴̨̍̉̑ ̷̡̗̰͔͕̓̽̇͘͜h̵̢̫̰͙͔̪̅̒ȩ̷͒͝r̷̢͕̤͚̯͒ ̵͕̭̽̏̑̎ţ̸̮̭͙̦̀e̵̖͕̥͗̓x̴̡̼͚͕͖̫̔̀t̸͖̜̼̓̑̅̿̅̕b̵̪̠̻͂̿͗͛͝ǫ̶̛̠̗͌͝ō̴̭̯̩͆̿̊͠k̵̗̐̚ș̶̛̫̻̟̦̒̋ ̸̜͈̟̄͊͠ơ̷̧͚̦͙̞̓̉̇v̶͎̭͖̥͔͎͐̽̿͘̚͘ě̷͔̻̝͌̓r̴̯̬͎̻̃̄ ̷̢̳͖̖̜̓h̵͈̰̩̳̫͕̋̉̊͝͝ȩ̷͇̰̼͖̊̆͐ȑ̵̞͈̬̻̐̐̽͌ ̷̗̂̿͛̀š̷̝̆̒ḥ̴̛̌̏͘o̸̢̥͉̽̀u̸͍̬̓̑͆l̴̨̛̞͍͛̉̒̉d̸̙͈̦̣̼̉̄̈̒͘e̸͓͌̉̈̌͐r̷͔̈́ ̵̤̠̈͂â̵͍̘̌͜s̴̢͓͓̯̻̍ ̸͍̱̥̈̈́̈̕a̷͙̦̖͖̞̮͛̌͛̍̍ ̶̡̘̦̯̯͂ļ̴̧̭̥̤̇i̵̠t̵̝̽̔̇̍t̵͎̟͙̓̈́̓̾ͅl̶̡̮͖̒̈́̓̒̐͜͝e̴͙̟̘̦͕̖͋͋ ̵̫̲̽͗̏̈́̄͜͜c̴̻̻͎̬̳̥͊ḁ̶̥͋͛̇̕p̷̜̺̝͓̟̞̍̃̓͑̍̃u̸̦͗̄̈c̶͔͕̲̩̙͖̄͒̈́̓̉̕h̶͖̕i̵̢̱̘̐͐̑n̷̨͖̰͖͂̑̃͜.̴͕̱̄̈͗͒̂̑ ̸̤͕̮̒͒ͅH̴͍̰̯͝ë̸̻͎̠́̓̽̏̍ ̵̧̹̫̄̑̂̀͝l̶̟͚͐̊͠ï̵̼̲͇k̸̳͇̗̞̝͝ͅe̶̡̛͍̣̫̯̍̒̈́̉d̵̬̘͚̫̤̓́̉ ̶̜̇̑̅̀͝b̷̧̗̤̰̠͋̄ẽ̷̱̍̾̏į̴̩͎͍̓n̴̢̞̭̉͛̆ͅͅg̶̛̲̭̹͚̯̈͘͝ ̷͚͔̱̗̝̃͒͐a̴̘̰̒̀̈́͊̕ ̵̡̈̒s̴̢̞̰̘̓̋͑̎m̷̥͍̘̙̺͌̀͊̋̌a̷̧̬̠͓͍̓͛ͅl̸͉̦͂͂͐͆ḷ̶̙̥̫̂͗͌̈̕ͅ ̷͉̼̩̱͗d̵̘̳͔̈́̽̅r̵̡̼̗̼͌̋̈͘͝a̴̜̤̯̜̓͘͝͝g̷̨͈̙̰̖̾̾̍̈́ȯ̴̮̫͚̹̈̉̆̕̚n̴̘̹͉͗̈́̓̕l̶͓̤̲̉͌͊i̷̜̝̟̪͔̓͂̕n̴̫̹̤̪̑̒̆̈́͝ͅg̴̗̟̲͠ ̵̼̜͐̈́̀̇a̸͇̺̙̰͑̈̂̋͊ṉ̷̠̞̪̭͛͜d̵̢̮̬͚͉͚̓͆̒͘ ̷̗̐̂͗͘͝͠b̸̳͈̠̹̣̎r̸̨̖͒̾e̵̜͎̝̜͕͐͆̍̄̈́͝ạ̴͔̼̭̇͆͐t̷̥̼̲̊̽̓̀h̷͇̳͎̘͍̔̒̈͆í̶̺̎͋͆ņ̴̮͍͑̋̑͋̐̈g̴̊̾̚͜ ̴̢̼̋̎p̶̡̓̃u̶̜̓f̸̛̺̫̅͘͠f̵̬̓͗s̸̟̫̼̋ ̴̩̤̖̳̦̿ȍ̶̡̥̱̖̮̎̾̓̐̓f̴̮̍̾̈́͝ ̶̧̤͙̞̃̈́͝f̴̧̖̫̭̞͋̽͛͒̎l̷̟͉̏̅͑̕a̶̺̒̓ḿ̴̹e̸̢̛͇̤̍́̎̎͜ ̷̥͓̀̊a̴̙̯͚͈̙͆t̷̥̭̟͉͆̚ ̵̰̅͜t̷͚̯͂̍ḩ̶̜͓̭̟̯̈́́̾̃e̸̱̟̘̟̾̈́͛̓͝ ̷̺̠̔̄̓̐͝ỏ̵̦̦̗̳̹̽̐̊͂͐͜t̴̝̋̄͊͛ḧ̴̳̊̀̌e̶͔̖̼͐̽̕r̴̘̼͚͈̟̒̿ͅ ̶̳̭̘̗̣̹̄̂͛k̶̙͐̇̚̕ḭ̶̞͝d̶̟̰̅́͒̒̾s̸̨̅'̸̛̟͇͍̖͑́͂ ̸̹̍̑̾̌ͅd̶̬̯̭̭͍͌̀ả̴͙͕̥̂͝ȩ̷̫͕̬̲̉̌̃̕̕m̶̟̓͘ơ̷̲̼̟͈͗̆͗̔n̷̝͎̋̊̕ͅṣ̷͔͉͖̯̽̕.̷̥̔̋̈́̑͑ ̴͉̇̏͌̕

̶̶̸̵̷̵͖̬̠̘̪͑͌̈̉H̴̢̜̹͂̿͛e̶̸̷̱͎̪̼̲͕̩̜͊̒̈́͒̓ ̵̶̴̗̲͍̰̣̣͈̅̓̿̅͘o̷̴̷̢͙̱̞̻̭̞͂̍̾͆̒̊ḟ̶̵̴͎̠̙͍̬̺̖̞̾̈́͌̉͌t̸̶̶̫̪̜̪̖̻̗͚̺̿̋͆̎e̵̸̴̡̤̩̙̲̥̲̬͒͆̀̈́͂͘͜͜͠n̷̸̸̢̯͖͓͕̳̦̥̈́̇͋̒͌̈́͋͘͜͝ ̵̸̴̧̢̡̩͍̳̲̬̼̖̔͛͐̍̆͐̒͑͊͂̚͠f̸̴̶̧͎̩̭̠̞͖͔̓e̴̴̶͇̮̙͕͕͚̽̃̌̇̍̎̈̕͝͝ͅl̵̷̶̨̜̝̬͉̓̎̎̄̓̾͘͜t̸̸̷͎̻̐̈́͛̈̆͛͛̿͋ ̸̴̷̛͖̫̮̌́̇͌͐͝͝l̶̸̶͖̞͔̼̍̄̋̔̓̿̉͒͘ò̸̷̶̧̧͙̜̭̥͓͔̍́̓̈͒͑̎ṇ̸̵̸̢̝͈̳̲͋̂͒̿̐͐̐̆̓͜͜͠ͅȅ̷̷̶̠͚̙̱̜̝̲̞̎̎͛̄̚l̶̷̴̟̟̯͕̖͕̻̟̯̂̈́́̾̌͌̆̅̄̆͝͝ͅy̷̸̴̟̦̟̤͂̍̿̇,̴̴̴̗͕̰̜̼̎͋͘ͅ ̷̶̸̡͙͓̄̾̒̾̀̋͂̕͝b̶̵̶̟̤̻̤̮̣̣̦͍̦͂̈̄̌͆ḙ̷̷̸̣͖̿̏̈́͒͘͠ć̵̶̴̢͓̠̬̯̤̝͋̎̌̃̉̚͘͝a̶̸̴̡͔̭̲̙͉̦̦̬͐͊̇̊̕͝͝ư̶̶̷̱̲̲͉͓͙̭̒̓͗̈́́̀͜ͅs̸̵̴̢͍͕̪̞̣̞̽̒̇̆̏̍͘͝e̷̶̷̛̛̺̥̥̝͈̹͉̒͗̂̔̒̃͛̋͘ ̸̵̶̛̝͓͇̼̊̊̏͛̌̑̓͜ş̵̸̷͇̗̳͕͈͙̰͙̘̱̒̿̆̎̑͐h̷̴̶̡̢̤̲̮͙̯͔̪͇̔̈́̌̄͂̆̆̍̕è̸̶̸̡͉͚͇͍͓͚̹͈͊͑̈ ̶̶̶̬̝͕͍͍̻͕̄̅̀͂͂̅̄̉̿̋w̴̶̷̼͉͙͑́̓͗̇͠a̶̵̶͚̟̟͖̟̼̳̽̊͛͆̐͆̚͜ͅs̸̸̸͈̗͕̭̺̯͎͎̉͗̈̊̂ ̴̵̸̨̡̮̺͙̜̔͐́̈́̔͋̽̾̚l̵̶̵̰̪̮̩̩̃͂̕o̴̵̴̧͙̠̬̲̯͗̌̾̑̽̌̃̈́̕͝n̵̵̸̢̛̬͕̲̮̱̮̺̓̽̒̆̇̚͜e̴̷̸̺͓̰̥̹͈̅͗́̌̓̇l̷̵̶̡͕̰̲͍̤̰̣͂̾̏̑͋͊̍̋̒̊̇͘y̷̸̵̪͎̞͔̱̺̽̓͊̅,̴̵̶̣͎̮̩̱̊͗̍̾̅͐̓̾̚͝ ̵̶̵̛̮̭̙̖̗̲̜̄͛̍̕̕͝b̴̶̷͇̼̳̮͇̞̈́̓̏̏͛̈́̌͘͜e̵̶̶̤̝͖̫̝̲̼̫̅̋̂̈́̋̆ç̸̷̵͎͇̹̫̽͛͛̇̈́̔͋̄a̶̸̴̠͇͈̣̹̲̬̼͊̋̈́̃̚u̷̵̶͈̺̱͓͇̱̅̋͂̉̓͝͠s̸̸̸̻̳͇͔̫̦̞̦͔͗͛̃̒̂̅̽e̵̸̵̟̺͕̲͑̏̋̈͌̌͘ ̶̶̶̬̼̩̏̏̐̅̄͑͝w̴̷̸̛͍̘̮̠̮̤̹̭̥̋̃̔̐͂̎̐h̶̶̵̛͖̲͉͖̰̠̘̫̩̏̈̔͋̍̑̅͠ͅe̶̵̶̤̺̘͂͆͆̎̕͝ņ̶̴̸͍͉͈̰͉̝̲͉͚̝͕͊̈́̎́̏̾ ̸̵̸̧͈͙̣̣̭͕̈̐̉͊̃͘s̴̵̷̙̪̭̼̱͂͒̽̋͂̌̄͑͜h̵̷̷͙̦̻̞̋͂̓̄̂̾͗̈́̿͑͝e̶̷̴̲͚̞̳̱̿̌̈̑́̌̅͋̕ ̸̵̷̢̗͍̰̪̩͗͛͒̃́͊̿̚̚͠ẃ̵̷̵̡̧̲̭̗̰̪̭̃̊̐͘͝â̸̸̸̛̹̖̝̞̮̰̏̓̌͑̑s̷̴̵̡̺̼̱̜̞̱̃̚͘̚͘͜͝ ̷̴̸̛̙̮̦͕͇̰͌̒͌̂̾͆ͅy̵̴̷͎͚̖̮̳͓̳͙̏̏̿̽̍̐̌͑̀̍͜͜͝o̸̷̶̱̗̼͈̭̍̅̃̃͝ṳ̷̵̸̢͔̰̟̦̱͉̏̓̈̔̾̕͘͜n̶̷̸̼̬̲̳̝̼̹̤̈́̈́̓̍̍̅̌͆͊̿g̸̵̴̘̗̯͉̥̰̞̫̲̜͐̓̽̽̕ͅe̸̴̵͈͈̪̺̗͗͒̏̈́̽̊̽͗̄̚ͅr̶̵̷̢̡̠̩͖̩̫̊̾̒͜͝ͅ ̵̴̵̛͍̰̭̙̮̈̋̆̀̄͊̍͂͝͝ş̴̶̸̢̡̬͙̳͉͎̟̱̜̬͑̌̂́̐́̇͗̽ḣ̷̶̷̡͈̳̖̾̈͑ę̴̷̴̡̩̝̗̟͌̀͌́̉̿̕ ̶̵̶̛͉̩̮͙̲͓̲̫̝̈̈́͒͂̑̃̂̒h̷̸̷̞͓̺̪̤̞̤̽͝â̶̶̵̡̦̬̮̯̲̞̄̇͗̚͜͝d̶̷̵̯̹͙̺̻̦̹̈́̃͛̓̈́̕ͅ ̶̴̵͎͎̖̫̹̰̤͐̔͌͑̅̽̌̚͜b̷̵̴̥̘͕̜͉̬̲͒̐ē̴̷̸̦͉̹͖̎͛̔̀͆͜ȩ̶̶̵̱̪̬̭̜͗͑͌̕͝n̶̷̴̫̣̞̻̝͔̻͕͕͂̊͑͌͊͛̿ ̴̴̶̨̝̜̥̖̠̻͎̌̈́̓̎̀͛̌͜m̷̵̸̛̖̬̩͎͙̦̟̥̭͗̆͘ͅị̵̸̶̧͈͖̟͔̘̐̂̂̈́̈̊̚s̵̸̴̪͚̙̑͌̎͗͝ͅu̵̷̴̺̞̰̖̒̆̈̊̉̆̀̾n̵̵̸̢͇̬͇̿̈́ͅd̴̷̷̨̢̗̠̲̜̠̭̭̖̤̋͐̓̑̊e̵̵̶͓̺̦͖̓͑̋̾́̕͜͝͝r̷̵̴̨̲̯͍͎̗͔̰̞̀̆͐̽̂͜͜s̵̴̴̢̡̼̩̞͈̗͖͋̆ţ̵̷̵̼̹̦͙̅̈́̐̌̿̈́̀͠o̵̸̴͔͉͉͇̼͈̫̖͛̈́̒͆͘͝ŏ̵̸̴͎̮̞͓̻͔̈̒̀̈́̆͐̿̊ḑ̴̶̶̛̝̮͈̗͓̒̾͛̓͊̽͑͋ ̸̴̶̧̙̦̺̻̪̽̒͑̌̒̑͆̽̈́̕(̸̷̸̧͓̩̠̭̖͈͔̰̲̜͍̚͘͝b̵̷̴̡̡̖̼͓̲͉̭̓̽̉͂̚͠͝ǫ̴̷̸̧̘̪̘͙̩̤̣̳͆̂̔̉̿̑̈y̷̷̶͖̫̝̯̘͆̾͊̈̃͆̉̈́̚͝ş̸̸̵͚͚̬͒͒̏̊͆͆̔͑͗ ̶̷̶̪̰͖̖͖̩̹͖̖̓̽̔͝c̴̴̸̢̖̭̹̲͈͑̍͋́̓̑̇̾̋̐͠l̸̶̴̺̝̠͇̒̓̋̈́̈̉̋͠o̴̴̵͎̩̹̥̬͓͊̏̇̏̔̽͆͝ͅť̴̵̵̙͎̺̬̳̭̰̀̋͋̚͝ͅh̷̵̷̟̺̳͈̤͍͕̞̉̿̾̿̇͜͠i̴̴̴͕̺͙̹͕͙͈̼̊͂̈́͐̉̎͠ņ̷̵̷̛̥͍͇͎̝͈̐͗̎̈́̑g̸̵̶̛̤͕̲̝̬̲̬̓̌͑̌̊,̵̶̷̯̲͙͉̮͙̳̠͆̎͊̐̂͗ ̵̴̷̡͚͖͐̚̚͘̕t̵̷̵͓̝̗̑̓̎̑̍̇̑h̸̶̷̪̻̩̥̙̙̑̇͐̽̓͗̚͝ḙ̵̵̴̖̭̪̫͙̠͆̎̈̓͒̈́ ̴̸̶̧̛͓͈͉̪̝̈̎̓̃̔ͅw̵̵̵̯̪̐́̔̓̑͌͆͐r̷̸̵̼͙̠̦͉̤͙̭̹̿͗̆̐̉̽͜͝o̴̸̶̡̧̧̲̦̱̥͌̍͜͠n̶̷̶͚͎͍̗͔͈̒̋̓͒͑̋g̸̷̶̥̩̖̘̯̣̾̂̍̃ ̸̴̷͙̖̩͛̍̇̆̈ͅṗ̵̴̷̺͕͎͈̏̇͜͠r̷̷̴͔̞͇̖̟̻͇̞̜͂̇̉̏̈ọ̴̷̷̳̝͎͙̮̙̙̏͒̈́̂̃͒͠n̶̴̴̨̛̯̜̜̏ŏ̴̸̵̢͚̘͖̯̰̦͓̎͆̐͘͝͝u̵̸̷̧̞̤͖͚̰̦̍̅̂̈́͑́͝ͅñ̵̶̸̹͈̪̑̇̔s̸̴̴̭̦̥̱̳̼̐̽̈́͑̑͜͝)̷̵̶̢̘̞̳͓̳͔̝̈́̏̽͊̏̂͜͠,̴̷̸͖̟͉͓̆̑̆͜ ̴̴̸͈̘̰͔̝͑̈͑̓͆̕b̶̷̶̧̦̮̙̩̞̗̺͎̫̥̠̀̂͒e̴̴̸̘̥̪̞͎͕͇̤̾̊̈́̃̕c̸̵̶̛͔͖͑̒̓͊̈́̚͝͝a̴̴̵̢͓̬̰̞̟͗̇͋̚ṳ̸̸̸͓͔̙̯̻͓̱̗̗͌̔̑͑̊s̴̴̶͔͎̝̙̲͎̊͊͌̓͂̔̓͆̕ę̴̸̸̠̪͕̦̙̞̫̤̾̉̇̑̋̓̓͂̚ ̸̸̸̤̙̺̟͉͎̫̼̽̄̒͛̄̾͝͝͠͝s̴̵̶͙̰͛̐̈́̏̂͌h̸̴̸̡̛̻͚̙̠̥̭͈͐̔̚e̴̷̸̳͈̘͖̝͍͓̳̓̊ͅ ̵̶̶͕̯̰̦̺͚͉́͋͐̕͠͝m̸̷̷̠̠̙̞̠̙̞̙̘̮̪͎̍͗̈́̈́̊̃͠o̸̵̴̺̦͇̝͓͖̺̭͐̌͊͛̅́̌͝v̶̸̶̤͈̤̩͎̺͈͙̥̇͑̽̀͆͌̋e̴̸̶̱͔͔̱̙̭̦̐̈d̴̴̷̡̘̩̺̗̖̏̂̈́̒̊͐͜ ̶̸̶̛̥̗̱̏͐̑͋̏̕͝͠ͅţ̷̵̴̛͈͚̙̦̗̿̄̊̈́͐̅̋̒̇̾͘ö̸̷̵̢̧̗̯̪̬̺͙́͂̈́̈́̉̈́͘̕͝ͅo̴̶̴̗͇̺̥͂͌̂̽́͝ ̶̷̶̛̱̘̪̝͓̫͓̼̟̝͌̑̒̆͐̓͆̕o̴̴̶̮̲̬͈̭̖͖͋́̿͛̑̋̈́̕f̶̵̴̡̢̢̲̮͙̗̗͎̂̒t̷̶̵̡̗̦̩͙̫͌̍̑͒̒e̴̸̴̡͉͕̜̤̯̯̻͊̂͂̒̈́̌͜n̶̷̶̳̖̦̩͇͛̑̓͋͌͘͝ ̴̶̸̡̛̪̜͚̦̪͚̲̒̑̈̓̍͆̔͝ͅt̶̷̵̨̻͖̫͓͔͂̅͋̐̈͜͠o̴̷̴̪̱̼̲̬̺͒̍̌̿̚̚͜͝ ̶̴̷̢̛̝̲͇̼̲̟͇̘͈̗̋̔͗͐̏̓m̴̶̶̧̡͔͚̟͕̫̻̣̖̈́̏͝a̴̶̴̢̛͕̝̯̬̹̱͎͕͗̌̎̕k̴̴̵̡̘͚̹̰͈̇͑́̏̔̚̕͜e̷̸̴̡̡̺̼̹͓̳̫̒̐̄͋̄͒̾͛̕ ̶̶̶̺̖̞͈̃̊͌̎̚̚l̶̵̷̨̘̳͓̦̤̳̞͆̈́̒̽͗ȁ̸̴̶̙͚̫̝̣͇͛̑̂͝s̵̴̶̢̳̼̱̣̭̬̏̍̅t̴̵̶͙͕̠̳̙̦͖͇̳̅̍̀͘̕i̸̷̶͚̭̯̯̜̠̫̣̻̍̋̈́̊͌̔̂͂̿n̵̷̵̛̳̪̖̉͑͒̄̍͠g̸̷̷̢̛̟͕̭̣̞̑̌̿̓͗̾̓̆ ̸̷̷̨̨̮̖̼̪̪͚͙̺̽̎̍͆͆͋̓f̵̵̶̖̟͚̠̦̮̔͛r̶̶̶̻̗̱͚͎̞̬̓́̇͒͛͌͊̊͠i̶̴̸̜̣̳̼̫̝͖͖̳̙̫͑̑̀̆̈́͝ḛ̵̴̷̜̲̣̦̹͔͗͊̋̓̈́͌̇̚͜͝ͅn̸̸̸͎̱͒̐̓͆̌̆̀͋̃̄͜d̸̷̸̨̫͉̠͚̼͚̄̑͑̈́͊̈́̚͝ͅş̴̴̴̬͈̱̯͓̘͐̊̃̕͝,̷̖̰̠͉͎̘̟͓̩̤͍̩͑̆̅̈́͑͂͑͛͋̆̓̋ͅ ̸̡͍̺͖͎̪͈̬͊͋̽̾̿̽̅́̾͋͗̉̚b̶̥͕̼͉͉̗͈̗̭̜͍́̿́̈̍̓͑̕̚͜ȩ̵̧̧̛͈̲̥͚̗̫̹͔̤͚̘̋̄͂͑̽̈̉̏̈́͂̒̐͂͑̐̕͝c̷̛̰̪͈͖̮̖̞̠̤͊͊̐́̾̀͋͂̑̉͊͑̉̆̊̊̚̕͝͝ȃ̷̼̱͎͉̺̙̉̂̍̅̄̾͒͛͛͌͊̍̏͘̕̚u̴̼̔̃́̽͛͐̽̐̀̅̾̑̋͌̚͘̚͝š̷̡͈̼͎̜̤̥̣̻̪͔̳̹̼̥̲̒͆̍̄̿̈́̋̚̚ͅe̵̢͕̺̩͕͔̰͉̖͐̊̂̂͠͝ͅ ̷̛̮̉̊̒̌̓̓̇̅̈͌̃̉͊̇̈͠s̸̢̢͉͓͇̤̼̭͙̼̠̎͜h̸͓͖̫̝̜̝̤̦͚̩̰̼͓͙̯̬͓͐̈́͑̆̿̂̏͌̆͛̕͠͝e̸̛͔̯̝̘͖̪͍͍̪͍̦̙̞̟͕͛͌͌̾̀̃̎̎̀͋̇͂͑͒͊̚͘̚͝ͅ ̶̧̢̢͓̯͔͔̩̳̲͓̬̣̙̣̙̥̖̒̍̓̓̏͛̿͂͐̂̐̕͘ͅw̵̛͓̻̩̹̥͉̦̰̠̪̜̪̾̄͂͊͐̈̋̐̌́̌̈́̓̆̄͜ă̸̢̢̧̛͓͚͖͕̹̟͇̹̜̯͚̥̥̰̥͇̽̈́̔̄̊̂͊̈͘̚͜͠ͅs̴̡̝̞̟̹̹̩̲̹͈̩̗̠̽̂̊͌̍͊͊͛̾̃͠ͅ ̴̞͈̘̋̉͂͐̉̃͒̃̅̍͐̐̃̆̓͋͘͝s̶̢̢̡̡͎͙̱̩̝̼͓͌̈́̂̾̋̕͠͝͝m̸͙̥̗͕̈̔̃̓̏̋̏̃͒̈́͗̏̍̆̍̓̿̈́͝͠a̸̹̤̤̱̜͍̟̖̗̰̜̪͙̤͇͓͛͗͌̐͗̅́̽͌̂̐͐̐̂͘͝ȑ̷͉͓͍̖̜͍͈̣̱̳͖̳̘͖̓͐̕ͅt̸̤̯̬̱̱̞̞̂͊̅̂̾̌́͌͑͘͘͝ͅe̴̢̪̟͖̲̫̠̩͗͌̓̆̂͂̍̈́̌̐̍͂͛̓̋͘͘͘ŗ̵̙͍͓̫̺̭̳͉͗̏̊͋̂͆̌̋͋̔̓͒̚ͅ ̸̝̘͕̯̬̲̀̍̊̍̒̿͒̃̐̐̆́͗̚̚̚͘͝t̷̢̰̅̿͌̈́͋̓̈́̓͗̅̂͌̕͠͝h̶̛̛̛͕̰̄̋̈́͒͂͐͋̄̋͌͘͝͝ǎ̴̐̇̾̃̔̿͑̿̌̑̕͘͜n̷̢̛̞̘͈͉͉̭͚͚̳̟̞̤̮͉͙̭͂̓͊̑͋̍̌̿̾̄̍̌̾̊̋͗̒̚̕͜͜͝ ̴̡̧̰̹̥̳̼̼̫̯̭̠̻̇̈́͋̾̀̓̒́͋̐̅̈́̆̒̏̈́̔͝ė̵͍͕̩͌̏͌͂̄̕v̶̨̢̳̱̗͖̳̟̺̪̝̪̜̮̲͓͈̍̅̎̈́̈́͗͂͋̊̿̂̓̋̐͒̎̔͝ē̵̢̧͈̱̟̰͎̩̘̩͍̮̩̪̆̒͛̔͊̾̐͊̅͛̏͘͝͝ͅr̴̨̢̛̩̝̭̩͕̼̱̫͙̞̱̾͊̓̌̃̑͗͋͂̕̕̕͜͝͠y̵͇̯̋̊̄̒͝o̴̢͔̪̰̳̫͓̫̳̤̲̗̖̳̖͈̭͇̦̿͒̇̿̋͂͌̃̊̆̀̚͘͝ͅn̸̲̤̻̝̱̻̱͗͂̾̅͒́̽̆̕̕̕ẻ̸̛̟̙̣̙̞̄̓̒͗̅̔̌̏͒̋̕͝ ̸̡̧͉͔̯̬̪̜͍̝̹̲̯̻̎̑ă̷͎͙̠͑̈́̿̍̊̚͝r̵̛̳̣̹̗̻͉̙̬̹̠̹̩̥͔̜̄̍̋͗̈́̿̎̓̀̋̕͘͜͠ǫ̴̩̟̩̙̜̩̘̗͎͕̦̯̥͚̰̬̱́͊̆͑u̸̝̯͈͊̐̋̎̐͊̓̓͒̀͐̅̈́̕̕͝͠͝͠n̶͓̍̍͊͊͑͒͜d̸̡̡̝͖̙̪̮̰͉̰̼͈̤͙̖̗͇͙͍͊̅̽̎͜͜ ̷̡̫̲͎̗̟̭̙̦͖̟̥͕̱͔̫̍̾̃̇̾̏̽̌̿̈́̍͐͜͜ͅh̵̡͇̦̫̠̭̼̹͇̓̄͊̊̄̎̈́̐͆̅̓̎̓͊̆̕ĕ̵̩̫̖̙̜̞͈̫̹̰̇̇̄́͂̃̈́̇̓̅͛̒́̉͋̅̈̕̚͝ͅr̷̛̛̤̹̱̝͙̮̆̃͑̎̆̏̎̏̓̽̕̕͝͠ ̶͓̪̣̬̜̈́͌̀̆̊̑́̄̒̒̐̇̿̆̉̍̔͘͝͝ä̴̡̢̨̩̼̤͕̹͉̠̭͈̗̘͔̙̳́̀̈́̈̌̅ͅn̷̮̫̙̭̩͔̘̼̱̺̫̤̅̈͆̈́͌͘d̴͍͙̪͇͚̀̃͌̇̓͂̉̿̄̓ ̵̜͉͖̦̭͑͐t̷̪̣͒̈́ḧ̸̛̠̗̪͓̰͉̖͖̰̹̞̻͔̘͔̮̞͙̰̤͆̍͌̇̑͌̊̓̕͝ë̶̡̠̤̗̘͉̖̦̠͕͙̘̹̜̼̗̹̟́̈́̓̽̓͗̚̕̕ ̵̫̿̒̔̇͌̈́͗̋̑̎̂́̈́͌͂̂̽͋̽̚̚ă̶̢̨̨̛͎̬̟̝̬̰̲͙͑̌̓̉̓̅̑̔̅̾̚͝d̸̡̹̙͔̗͓̥̠̮̜͈̑̂͋̈͊͜͜u̴̧̟͔͐͊͑̂͒̾̓̽͂̒l̵̨̡̺̗͖̼̜̺͔̘͔̦̖̖̳͖̋̐̐̈̃͐̑̅͛̋̈̐͘̚͜͝͝͝ţ̶̧̜̺̹̰̭̪̟̝̜̫̜͕̼̈͒̍̒̾̇̇̈́̋̌͒̚ͅš̵̨͕̹̺̻͍̟̬̤̣̰̹̺͔̺̳͉̤̽̊̀͛͛͌̌͒̓̌͋͗́̚͘͘͝ ̸̧̡̨̛͕̞̗̮̺̞̩̘͉̤͍̲̦͖̘̥̈́̐̾̎̊̄͂͒̋͒͘̕͜ͅd̷̩̘̬̜̹̺͙̮̝͚̭̹̟̼̝̺̣̐̆̓̏̐͛̓͐͂͗͜ͅi̸̡̛̙͇̲͎̟̯͕̘̤͓̗͂͜ͅd̷̛̞̠̼̺͍̤̖̪̪̣̫͎͑̐̇̆̃͑n̵͔̗̹̤̥͚̘͈̥͎̼̤̠͕̼̮̥͒̊̔́̊͒͘͝ͅ'̵̢͖̣͖͒͆̃́̉͊͆̌̃͑̄̏̃̄͘̚͠ẗ̵̢̨̡̛̰̺̮̥̘̰̪͕̪̼̙̼̜̌́̉͐͑͜͜ ̵͈̜̱͋̎̆̍̽̋̐͜a̴̛̩̳͒̑̈́̓̇̿̽̇̂͌̂̚͠͝p̵̛͍̝͓͚͂̈́͗͂̐̆̓͘͘p̸̛̗̰͕͐̉͂̋͗̑͌̈̐̓͒̍̃̕̚͠ŗ̴̧̨̖̳̣͍͎͇̭̥̩̣̪̠̤͔̭̞͈͓̈͆̾̅̊e̴͚͎̞̘͍̩̬̭̹̰̥̼͍̿̃̐̔͐̃̇́͂͂̿̈́͗̔͊͒ͅc̴̜̭͎͓̠͉̻̗͙͒̅̆̎̆͋̅̄͆̾̂̊̕͝i̴̧̨̛͔̭̖̜͍̳̰̘̼̥͙͓̻̫͊͑͒̔̈̉̿͊̚ͅa̴̰̪̯̪͖̮̠̪̤̾́̔̍̿̾͘t̷̡͕̮̳̣̤̤͐̈̚e̷͍̾̈́̀̈́̑̏͐̇̐̔̑̂̿̏̅͊̕̚͝͝͝ ̸̠͐͐̒͆͗̿͝t̶̛̜̯͆͊͛̐͋͌̆̐͋͋̎̈́͝ḩ̶̟̫̥͓̘͕̰̮͇͎̟̺͖̝̞͉̝͙͕̿͗́̀̑̀̂͛̽͌̾̆̐̐͜á̷̧̝̭̫̫̤̲̈́̎̃̂̓͑̕͝t̸̘͗̅͒̒̏͆̍̌̾͂͐̚͝.̷̡̳̺͖̍̄̒̃͊̈́͋͑̋̒̃͐̓̉̑̿̚͝͠ ̸̢̛̞̩̰̟̞̳̗̞̟͚̖͙̘̥̤̎̄̒͋̍͐̇̅̎̂̓̈̈́̇̉̚͝ ̸̛̭̖̗̦͕̟͔̩̙̋̍̎̐̓͆̏̽̈́͋̚

Ơ̶̧̢̢̗̙̼̖͈̙͓̣̗͖͉̻̫̗̫̜̲̬̜̟̣̗͙̬̲̣̲͔͉̭̩̹̺̙̫̤̻̰͖͍̥͇̼͍̗̩͉͍͕̩̯͚̭̘̿͋̅͗́͋̾͂͋̎̉̑̾̎͂̈́̓̾̊́͋̊́̓̀͗͐͊̓͑̍̎͂̒̑̾̇͊̈̑́̉̒̋̍̈́̽͆͐̈͗͋̿̐̃͂̾̎̈̔̽̿̐́̓̆͌̈́̐́̄̆̊́̃̃̆͆̆͊̿͛̕̕͘̕̚̚͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅn̷̢̮͎͇͍̝͚̜̟͕̹̖̺̠͙͂͐͌̈́̉̃̊̔̆̽͂̋͆̀̂͒͛̀̽̑̈̇̐̈́̏̇̾̉̈͗̈́͗͌͑͗͌͛̈́̎̅̑͂̍̅̄͑̂͗̊̀͑̇̈́̍̇́͆͑̓̋́̃͘̕̕̕͘̚̚̚͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅë̵̡̛̛̼̥́̄̒̑́̆̐̃̽̑̓̋̊̓͌̈́̃͂̓͋́̐̏͊͆͋́̒̑̽̅̈́̌͗̇̊͒͘̚͘͝͝͝ ̸̡̢̧̡̢̨̧̨̡̢̢̯̰̘̦̯͕͍̜̙̮̗̫̭̰̦̬̫̟̟̗̯̟̖̗̯̪̳̝͎̝͉̜̖͙̼̰̻̣͚̹͎̼̰͕̯̟̳͔̦̘̱̟̳̗̬̹̙̠͚̮̭̜̞͉̞͕̼̘̻̞̦̰̬̤̎͗̀̍͌̌͆̉͛̏̓͛̉͘̚͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅḑ̸̢̢̡̧̧̢̧̧̧̛̛̦͍̖͍͖͙̳̺̪̳͈̞̫͙͖͔̤̙̱̙͈͕͍̝̪̪̹͍̬̦̰̲̤̠̺̼̗̥͙͚̖̩̳̪͇͚̣̰̲͍̫̩͚̪̥̩̯̖͍̬̥̼̫̮̹͈̠̺͇̙̗̠͍̩̘̰͍̮̪̭̋̇̂͛̌̌͒̎̓̓̄͑̃̌̋̈́̆̉͌̓̿̍͑́̊̊̓̊̓̓͗̈́͋̂̐̇̔̓̋͑͊͌̍̌͂̋̎̓̓́͊̊̀̂̾̆͑̚̚̚͘̕͘̚̚͘͘͘͜͜͝͝͠ͅą̶̧̢̧̛͎̫̺͈̪͓̗̟̥̝̼̬̰̥̙͂͊͆̃͒̎̑͌͐̔̔̂̑͋̽͂̾̽̃̽̔̇̈̊̆́̿̆̾̽̽̈́̐̄͊̈̕͠͝͠͝͠ẏ̵̛̿͛͛̿̈́̃̐̈́̌̂̃̿͒̉̽̂͆̓̅̃̽͊͆̑̉͑̈̄̓̍͌̃͋̋̉̂̒̊͂̽̉̓̿̿̈́͋̊̐̂̒͛́͗̊̐̈́̇̔̽͑͊̈́́̓̋̉̎̚̕͝͝t̵͐̊̂͌̏̃͗̇̈̔̅̓̍̂͊̐͌̔̋͊̈̑̆̇̐̑̎̆̎̊̚̚̚͠͠h̷̨̢̧̨̡̧̡̧̛̛̛̛̛͙͔͍͇̦̲̪͍͚̯̝̯̹͉̙̫̤͔͍̪̗̩͈͈͕̗̠̣̻̪͔̟̳̠̮̮̰̱͙̬̠͇̮͕̝̝̠̹̥̭̤͙͖̗͙͎̺̻̩̰͓̪͙̙͈͇͍͎̭̯͔̮̙̼͔͉͈͔̋̓̆̿͒̀͐̑̓̎̈́̐̔̌̈́͊̓̊̏̈́̿̇̐̇̓̾̇͋̓̒̐͂͊̀̌͋̏̐͆̓͆̿̃̍̓͗̅̐͆͂̀͂̍̂͒̿̂̓͊̅̆̽͂̐͗͗̍̀͐̂̈̉̓̔͘̚͘̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅẹ̷̢̢̢̡̨̛͇͇͔͓̮̹̮̣̦͎͈͈͔̠̺̣̬̹͈̥͇͇̳̟͚̩̻͓̯̣̲̳̰̹͇͕̰͈͙͋͜͜ͅ ̸̨̢̖͉͖͖͍͔͕̱͎͈̻̺̯̹̻̟̼̘̼̭̦͍̩̪̺̹̬̰̲̻̦͓͇̻̙̩̦͙͎̮̘̜̗̘̺̖̞̦̹̦̬̺̫͇̳̖̣͍̜̝̏̾̒ͅͅl̸̡̫̮̺̣̹͚̟̻͓͕̪͙̣̟̭̩̘̠̪͙̲̲̭͖̝͖͇̓͊́̌̍̄̃͗͐͆̄̎̄̓ͅi̸̢̧̨̨̡̡̢̧̧̢̛͖̩̤̠͇̹͎͈͚̳̼̫̥̤̮͕̖̜͔͚͔̖̱͎͙̗͔͚̼̞̦͔̱̫͓̱̦̼̠̻̬͖͔̤̙̤̫̲̳̮͇̩̘̲̯̼̹͓̜̊́͆̅̑̆͋̎̆͋̃̇̅̏̀͋̑͆͂̔̓̓̅͌̍̓̾̒̈́̽̇̈́̓̽͌͗̋͌̔̌̉̈̇̊̏̇̓̒̃̈́̍̌̎͊͆̑̎̐̾̎̑̏͊͆̌̏͆̆̇̓̊̃̕͘͜͝͝͠͝t̷̢̢̢̢̢̧̡̢̛̜̫̙̬̭̘̰̞̜̲̱̯̞̝̲̙͚͕̦̜͎͓̳͙̞̣͍͇̞̮̙̟̻̤̥͎̦̘̦͂̏̍̅̑̐̊̐͒͊̈́̽̇̀̾͋͐̈́̈̆͒̓̈̆̌̓̑̆̿̆͂̑͘̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅt̶̢̡̢̡̧̨̛̺͓̮͎͓͍̫̱̞̰̘̩͎̻̺̯̭̣̰̞̳̹̤͓̲̲̘͕͓͉̤͚̲̤̙̝̻͉̼̲̪͍̯͖͇̻͕̜͖͔̼͙̤͓̤̤͇͉̪̬̲̲̻̏͐͆̌̉͊̾̑̅̓̈́̅̂̐̀͂̽́̂͋́͂̌̄̎̓̓̔̇̄̉̅̉̈́̆̍́̓̈̋̃̅̏͗̽̄̔̈́̎̍͆͒̈́̈͒̑̿̋̿̒̅̆͒̐̅̈́͐̊̏̍̉̎̈́̈̂̚̚͘̕̚̕̚̚͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅl̵̨̡̢̧̧̧̡̩͍̼̮̮̟̼͖͈̖̝̯̜̲̩̥̬̫̲̲̜̥͔̗̖̥̼̜̖͕̟͈͎̘͓̼̳̣̲̼̜͍̦̩͈̣̰̬̹̪̭̦͉̯̳̦̠̺͕̘̜̼̟̙̘̼̳͇̪̣̬͈̥͎̙̭̫̗̝̰̲͉̺̥̤̩̬̍͋͂͋̉̽̏̾̈́͆̆̉̽̔̑͂̓͘̕͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅe̴̢̡̢̧̡̨̡̩̖̺̣̯͎̲̱̠̫͔̭͚̪̪͕̬͉̮̱̩̹̱̲͖̣̼̗̪̬̯͖̤̣̝̦̳̝̣̯̣̟̩̺͈̱̦̺̹̱̬̙̞̖͕̙̩͍̝̣͙̠̠̤̻͔͎͓͍̪̠͍̩͓̘͓̾̉̓̽̄͆̓͑̑̈̈͆͗̽̄̆̀̎̅͜͝ ̵̧̛̛̲̙̲̭̗̮̝̲̻͉̱͇̜̙̖͕̖͚͔͚̥̼͈͇̲̘͈͔̦̤̲̪͉̭̮̈̍̔͐̄̽̃͋͆̌̅́̏̽̒̿̒̋͌̈͗̈́̈́̂̅̉͐͘͠͝͝ͅd̴̨̢̧̨̛͓̼̤̦̞̯͖͕̺̮͉͔̗̖͕̺͇͎̹̗̹̻̯͈̠̻̘̘͍̥̳̜̬̖̲̯̘̤̮̬̰̗̪̙̠̱̼̭̖͖̲͙̄̀́̈͛́͒̇͆͑̅̈̌̏͊͐̅̔͐̅͗̒̀̀̋̈́̐͋̃̊̓̐͌͊̕̚̚͘͜͝͠͝͝ͅa̸̧̨̛̛̹͉̯̦̥̟̪̱̹̱̹̝͚̳͑̏̓͌̎̈́̈̀̏͂̉̿̇̉͂͂̈́̉̈́̈́̅͊̂̅̃̈́̎̏̑͌͊̎͒̅͑͒̋͒̔̈̌͆̈́̐̾̿̈́͋̍̽̓̿̑͂͑̄͗̄̃̐̔̅̆̿͘̚͘͝͝ͅȩ̴̡̛̛̳̠̤̬̥͔̺̭͚̘͔̦͖̦͚̲̰̦͎͓̼̘̻̮͖̺̟͚̮̯̖̠̞̼̩̩͑́̒̑͛͂̊̀̒̎̐̓̏̑̀́͆̐̓̑͆̒̅͌͆͗̑̔̈́̆̈̏̈͛̀̔̐͗͆̇̈̓̉̋̉̄͒̂̊̾͌̀̊͂̈́̔̓̐̇̿̓̐̂̑̔̿̅̿͛͑̽̃͗͗̈̿̈̅̕̚̕̕̚̚̚̕͝͠͝͝͠͝m̴̧̡̨̨̧̢̧̡̢̥̗̹̯̞̺̳͖̙͖̜̳̻̮͚͈͉͙̼̲͙̮̙̞̹̣͔͎̜̻͉̝̘͔̼̺͚͉̰̰̦͇͊̈̉̎̈́͂̽́͊̄͛̌̽̊̅̈͛͆̍́̈́͊̆̆͛̈́͒̈́̑̽͐̐̓̌̽̃̄̊͗̏̅̈́͛̈́́͛̅͂̓̔̾̿͊͑͌͋̍̽̈̽̓̅̓̀̒̆̏̈́̏́͋̓̃̈́̕̚̕̕͘̕͜͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅö̵̡̧̨̧̢̨̟̣̞͈̫̺͍̥͇̳̻͙̬̜̱͉̞͉͔͖͙̪̫̬͔̝͎͓͙̗͚̮͖̯̜͉̳͓̤͖̘̺̩́̓̓̉̏̿̈́͂̅̔́̈̎̿̿̓́͆̈́͆̓͋͐̈́́͗̋̑͋̉̏̃͂̃͒͋̄̈́̎̈͗̒̚̕̚̚͜͠͠͝͝ͅͅņ̷̨̧̡̮̼̭̬̜̙͈̱̬̲̖̳̣̭͇̻̘̣͙̩̜̼̰͍̳̦͎̩̗͓̬̫̦̝̮̤̳͍͊̄͛̕̕ ̷̧̨̛̣̣͇̫̝̞̬̬̦̪͗͗̈́͆̾͋̍̆̋̄̓͒̔͗́͐̽̈́̄̈́̎͛͑͆̏̑̀̒͊̏̎̓̊͒̈͒̿̍̽̿̍͊͐̈́̈́̈́͊̈́͛̍̾̈́̂̆̍͗͒̈́̂̇͌̍̈́̇̃͂̂̕̕͘̕̕̚̚̚͘͝͝͠͝͠ͅw̸̢̡̨̡̧̩̳͉̮̯̩̗̤͚̞̜̝͈̥̝̠̰̲̰̠̭͎̮̤̦͓͕̲̬̟̤͈̪̻͊̽̋͐͑͐͗̋̆̃̀͆͒̄̾̎̆͒͆͑͒͆̄̍̆̍͆͜͝͝ǫ̶̢̢̧̞̮̪̺̦̞̙̜̘̺̲̝̳̫̤̖͕͔̫͕̜̟̦̘̘̳͔̠͇͎̲̳̝̩̰̟̪̜̞͚͍̞̦̪͖̥͚̱͔̗̥̱̺̒͐̈̅̃͜͜͜͝ͅͅk̴̡̧̧̡̢̢̺̖̥̰̮͍̬̮̦͎̹̙̗͔͕̝̘̖̪̣͔̺̺͔͍͔̘̟͉̼͙̖̘̜̫̦͎̭͙͓̠̖͕̜̖̗̯̯͍͚̜̖͕̰̼͖̮̠̫̺͇̭͉̣͓̙͉̙̻̤̣̘̲͚̬͑͑̂͛̔̃̇͜͜͝ͅͅe̸̢̢̢̛̙̠͎̜̹̙̪͈̜̭͈̳̻̣̳̞̮̖͍̯̠̣̠̔́̔͒͌͒̈͋̾͒̓̂̓̿̅͆͊̌̄͊͂̊́̃̇̀̌̈́́̆̍̃̓̇̎̊̋͒̋̀̂͆͆̉͋̔͂̍͘̕͘͠͝͠͝ͅ ̵̨̡̧̨̛̜͎̲̰̭̜̪̭̰̣̙͍̙̥̯̜͔̥̭͚̹̙̫̝̹̜͓͖̺̼̟̬̦̙̥̖̟̪̥͎̪̘̔͋͛͆̑̔̀͋͊͑̎͆͑́̂̈́̈̃̒̍̋̊̎͘̚͝͠u̶̢̢͙̖̺̜̰̗͓̼̠̞̝͕̤̟̳͖̯̙̱̬̭͉̦̻͕̭͖̬̰͊̿̉͑͌̿̎̀͑̃̇̉̈́͋͒̊͂̉̓̈́̉̇̔̑̈́̋̒̈́ͅp̷̨̡̨̨̢̢̛̛͚͕̺͕̤̞͇̗̹̘͇͓̟̰̰̣͙̻͕̘͎͇̰̠͇̹̪͚͎̱͕͚̱̯̻̠̖̤͇̯̖̪͍͙̥̭͈̯̺͔̝͍̬͕̦̪̤͈̺̰̺͚̱͓̼̠̝͍̼̈̿̆͒̄͛̈́̒͊̔͆̍̈́̄͑͂̐̂̾̒͌̈́̆͌̈̚̕̕͘͜͜͜͠͠,̸̡̢̢̢̢͚̦͕͇͓̟͉͎̳̲͕͖̳̟̺̣̼̰̰͕͎̫̩͚̫̹̯̼̞̼̫̲͙̥̤̣̘̱͒̊̈́̈͒̊̍͗̊͌͗̉̈́̓̃̂͂̆͊̌̓͜͜͜͠͝ ̵̧̢̛̩͍̘͈͎̤̫̝͍͕̱̰̼̰̼͚͚̙̹̝̠͈͓̻̲͈͙̙̺͚̼͍̫͈̥͎̯̂͛͐͊̏̓́̂͒͒̐̿̃̈́͒̎̐͐̋̈́̋̄̃͗̌̾̉̿͛̑̃̍͋̓͐̓̒̓̉͑̓̒̈́̈͋͛̈̅̈͊̊̈̀͒̌͗́́̕̕͝͝͠͝ͅả̸̧̧̨̡̢̡̢̧͔͖͉̰͎̦̥̮̘͙̗̠̩̱͈̠̜̟̣͖̝̹̪͉̼̝͇͖̣̝͙͔̤̱̤͚̘͙̞̥͙̱͙̻̫̺̼͆͋̌̑̊̐̃̃͐͌̋́͐̔̒̆͗̃͋̏̔̄̋͊̔́̀̾̈́͑̓͊̿̂̃̋̀́͛̕̚̚͘͝ņ̶̧̨̡̢̢̨̡̢̡̛̛̥̜̤̹̝̳̖̱̬̫͓͖̰̪͉̖̯̬̯͉͎̰͎̙̜̮̙͇̗͈̻͚͔̖̰͎̻͙͈̦̤̪̗̘̮̼̞̳̪̞̤͓̞̬̬̻̻̼̠̝̯͍̳̌̾̔̓̇͆̀͌̄̊͊̒͊̈́̊͌̋͐̐̂̈́̈̇͂̔̽͒͆̀̓̈́͛̃̒̓̈́͛̇̃͐̈́͗̈́͂̈̔͂̒̈̏̾͑̑̇̆̍̈́̑͘͘̚̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅd̷̡̛̯͉̝̼̻͈̩̘̲͔̰̣͕̫̯̝͙̮̳̩̟͕͉̣͕͖̪̮̎̑͛̿̾̇̌͐͆̔̊̌͂͋̑̊̽̏̀̇̾͒͆͊̉̾͊͛̒̄̋̊̑͋͛̒̀́͂̿̐͗̌̚͘̚̚͘͠͝͝͠͝͠͠͝ ̷̢̛̛̬̳͖̘̳̯̣̱̪̹̤͔̜̲̥̥͎̥̘̘̜͇̰̥͖͈̑͑̈͋̊̉̚̚͜͝͠ͅͅh̷̢̛͓͎̰̭̺̠͙̏̈̏͆̊͌̽̔̈́̅͒̌͆̍̒̎̈́̎͑͆̀̀̓͊̊̍̉̀̅̊͗͗̔̑̐̈́̇͗̆̉̋̐̅͆̓̐̊̇̿̀̃͋͗́̓̓͐͆͌͂̇͑͒͊̎̽̚̚͘̕͘͜͝͝͝͝͝ͅę̴̢̧̜̪͔͙̟̫͚̻͓̪͎̭̹̩͔̺̦̫̪̈̓̾̎̃͐̽̃̿̄̽̍̇͗́̕͝͠͝͠͝ ̸̧̨̨̡̢̛̲̺͍̩̣̹̤̜̳̣̥̩͇̤͇̳̰̥͖͚̺̞̟̦̺̟̥̬̭̞͙̼͔̭͙̝͓̱̙̪̼̩̮͎̱̬̗̮̳̟͍̜̰͔̞̻̞̬͉̤͉͕͖̥̦̖͔͈̙̪̫̼͇͙̂̃̆̇̊̔̿̇͂̆̓̃͐͗̆͌͆̃̄̂̈́͐̒̓͐̏̈̈́̊̉̓̅͒͗̊͊̄͘͘̕͜͠͠ͅͅẅ̸̨̨̨̡̫̹̖̻͙̹̭̣̼̯̮̬̥̮̤͔̲̝͔̘̳̞̟͇̣̲͖̖̣͜à̵̢̡̡̱͔̖̙̥̥̹̲̤̯̮͓̼͚̻̼̣̗̰̘̙͉͙̈́̇̓̐̇̑̌̈͆̍̄̎̈́̉͐̇̃̒̈́̏̊̿͊̾̓͒̿̏͊̓͌͐̌̎̓̐̈͋̈͆͆̓̎̎̓̈̈́̆͒̂̅̓́͛͌͒̎̚͘̚͝͝͠ͅş̷̧̡̡̡̧̨̛̯̖̞̗͔͚͇̳͇̘̪̭̼̹͔̩͔͇͉̺̗̘̬̮̖̙͎̖͚̫̤̙͇̟̫̻̙̦̰̩̩̰̘̲̜͔̠͍͎͔̙͍̙̘͔͓̗̼̦̤̯̤̼̱̳̠̜͖͕͙̩̋̇͂͆̃̆̍̂̈́̓͗̓̿͋̈́͌͑͛̈́͊̿͛̈́̊̏̅͂̓̾̂̈́̇̿̇̓̋̌̈́͑͛͐̔̒̔̋̈́̓̏̒͗͗͐̿͒̿̒̍͊͐̐̋̆͊̅̽̑͗͌̒̈́̊̍̋̔̊͋̓́̾̆̈́̓̉̌͂͐͘̚̕̕̕̕͘̕͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅ ̷̨̢̢̢̡̨̨̢̛͔̥̬̪̤̲͈̙͈̭͇͍͍̰̟͉̬͇͖̹̞̗̟͓̜͉̮̹̜̩̱̖͔͚̲̗͓̼͈͈̞̱̰̤͙̜̩͎̺̮͉̩̟̙̺̳͓͉͈̹̬̦̲̼̻̟̠̱̝̣͕́̈́̌̔̈́̏͂̓͆̑͂͐̉͋̓̂̌̍̀̌̓͒̽̌̈́̐̈́̓̊͗͋̅̓̀̉̇̔͆͂̓͆͒͐̂͋͗́̒̅̓̂̑̂̆̊̈͘̚͘̕̚͘͜͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅṇ̴̢̨̢͖̦͖̲̤̖̟̖̰͇̘̻̺͓͍̪̬̭̹̗̻͔͚̪̟̈́̇̉̚̕͠ͅǫ̵̛̛̺̟͓̙͇͇̖̞͚̳̺̳̳̩̱̦͔̬̭̼̟̙̣̩̝̫̩͚̘̙̬̙̹̩̰̟̗͚̤̲̥͚̣̳͈̼̰̠̫̤͑͐͋̃̅́͋̌̈́̂̓̈́̒̍̃̔̾̈͌͑̅͒̿͋̈̀̓̽̔̌̿̂̉̈͊͌̌̐͗̈́͒͊̏̐͆̄̂̂̎͆͂̔̾̐̽̊̀̽̂̅͋̇̈́͐͆̐͛̀̿̕͘̚̚͝͝͝͠͝͝͝ ̷̢̧̧̙̹̯̘͍̳̖̖̰͔̥̲̥̮͎͙̼̼̼̱̙̼̳͎͉̦̰̥̖̪̝͇̯̹̮̩͖̰̟̦̜̼̫̤̌͐̑̉̎͐́̈́̚̚̕͝ͅl̸̡̢̡̡̡̨͚̭͍̘̺̜͎͙͇̩͈̜̱̤̗̠̪̥̺̱̦̼̤̞͉̲͉̙̣̥̞̝͕̺̩͕̝̙̘̠͙̼̗͉̣̩͚̥̗̮̱̘̦̳̤̳͉̺̟̺̙͙̳̯̝̻͎̺̠̝̥͈̗͈͍̖̖̝͉̥̑͜ͅͅͅơ̵̧̢̢̧̡̢̧̰͇̰̳̫̜͕̻̜̬̬͇̭̮̻̟̜͓̩̼̻̝̰͇͇̯̤̭̘̬̠͚̙̫͔̰͕̳̹̲̳̻̳̘̰̘̻̭͇͎̦̺̥̲͚͕͖̤̰̲͍͚̜̱̞͎̜̞̝̹̪̱̯̩̳̺̐̿̈́̊̽̔̑̅͊̌̂͛̉͂͐͑̏͋͑̓̍̃͒̇͋͛͑̑̈́́̈́͂̈́́̑͛̿̆͆͗̅̓͌̄̉͂͋͛̋̿͂͊͋̍͑͆̋̍͊̐̐̌̏̂͌͐͛͐͂̿͗̃͐̿̈́̀͌̋̿͌̐̎̌̚̚̕͜͜͜͝͝͝͝n̷̢̢̢̨̧͔̲̹̬͇͓͈̭̦̩̣̭͕̬͖̱̹͔͎̩͕͇̘̳̤̮̣͕̯̪͉͍͇̩̻̝̬̩͈̹͈͒̇͑̆̀́̓̅̒̃̂̇̋̆̚͜ͅͅͅg̸̨̡̢̢͎͕͇͚̳̰̟̮͖̜͋̒́̑̇́̿̒̅́̑̈̃̈́̌̇̿́̌̒͆̈̽̏͋͋̿͐͛́͐̑̏̀͗͊̈́̍̂̓̓́̽͋́͒͛̓̑͗͒͗̄͂͊̊̐̄̇́͗͑̉̃̏͜͠͠͠͝͠͠͠͝e̸̢̢̡̡̛̟͎̘̗͇̼̩̞̱̜̹͇͕̜̻̮͐̈́̂̈́̀͑̒̆̈́̉̇͒͑̃̂̈́͆̽̓͊̋̓̀̔͊̉̌̃͑͆̿̌̈́̈́͆̔̐̓̒̈́̍̍́̌͋̈̒̇̃̓̉͌̉͊̐̍͒̒͂͑̍̽̋̓͘̚̕̚̚̚͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͝ȓ̶̪̘̀̊̄̈́̂͛̈́̔̆͛̿̽̏̔͗̅̾̇̿̐̃̃̌́̓͗͑̐̐̇̕̚̕̚͘͝͝͝͝͝͠ ̵͕̤̦̻͇̟̩̳͌̃͐͂̐̾́͒̌̎̈́̾̃͑́̏̔̓̒̾͋̍͐̇͊͊̓́́̃̃̓͋̄̉̆͗̈́̅̉͒͌͆͋̓͂̂̎͌̈́̓̊̓̒͒̿̑̄͆͛̃̈́̄́̂̿̒̓̈̈́͂̿͂͆̑̈́̚̚͘̕͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠a̷̡̡̡̧̧̢̢̛̛̛͎̲̟̩͚̟̦͉̱͚̣̠̜̦̱͚̤̼̩̖̱̗̮̤̙͓̪̹͙̗͕̦̱̞̬̬̙͙͚͇͙̮̺̜̒̌̾̓̍͆̃̈͋͆̎̑̀̂͐͐͋͊̍̎̄͒̓̽̑͌̒̐̔͆͒͛̐̔̇́̃̆̈́̉̊͐̈́͛̈́̊̐͌̐́̈́̐̊̿̒̄͆̑̎̍͐̊̒̊̐̊͗͒̏́̉̅͗́̚̕̚͘̕͝͠ͅͅ ̸̡̢̢̧̢̡̡̨̨̖̙̙̲̦͇̮̰̙̝͓̥͍͎̟̣̩̻͎͎̟͖̮̝̘̗̮͎̮̼͓̫̻͇̘̻̮̗̱̮̦̺̬͈̩͚̠͎̠̼̗̟̭͇̣̱̭̱̯̜̼̰̣̱̺̞̦̣͇͚̭̪͍͔͚̤̥̞̹͎̹̏̏̔̊̑̔͆̽̓͊͋̑̑̈́̇͒̑̎͐̋͆̾̃̓̍̏͋̓̒̄̀̄̓͒̑͑̆̀̏̈͗̊̒̐̒̑̈̽́̈́̆̊̋̎̀̓͌̀̍͒͗̊̑̌̇͗̽͛̂̄̅̽͐̂͛̆̈͐̎̔͛͋̈́͘̚̕̕͘͜͝͠͝͠͝ͅl̵̡̨̢̢̨̧̢̛̛̛̟͉̳̳͕͖̥̪̖̰͓̘̜̟̹̖͈̣̠͎͈̩͇̣͖̲͓̺̦̝͚͍̰̻̙̗̱͇̪̩̲̖̩̯̣͖̞̭͚̣͎̩̹̖͈̖̘̝̯͋͒̄͑̅͆͒́̎͒̈́̆̒͑̃̈́̅͌ͅͅi̷̢̢͔̘̟̮̯̞̟̳̯̳̯̭̺̞̞̗͔͉̱̟̺͎̱̳̎̃̔̏͆͑̈̔͛̈̚͝͝ͅͅẗ̷̛͙̤̮̹̮́͂͛̑̒̀͐̒̎̌͂͊͛́̋͆́̀͂̃́̉̑̒̇̈̿̑̊́̏̂̚̚͘̕̕͘̚̚͝͠͠͠t̴̢̢̛̛̝̖͎̙͙̞̤̭̩̤͉̻̩̔͌̉̆̊̆̍͂̊̑͋̐̓̀͑̃̽̏͐̃̽͛̈̌͆͑̊̓̾͋̿͆̈́̌͊̀͛̊͛̍̿͛̚̚͘͠͝͠͝͝͝ḽ̸̨̧̛̛̛̭͉̠̻̲͙̥̳̹͔͓̜͖̬̥̜̖̰̮͎̞̻̯̦̹̮̐̇̍̉̈̈̏͗̇̃̿̒̉͊̉̐̈̃̈́͌͗̏̇͋͋͂͊͂͑͑̈́̂̊̽̅͗̎͆́̒͊̋̄́̓̊͐̈͒͛͋̏͊͌͊̎͛͛͐̅́͂͗̈́̏͋̈́̋͘͘̕̚̚̕̕͜͜͠͠͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅȩ̵̨̢̧̨̢̡̡͔̟̥̰̲̹͈̮͔͎͔̦̬͓̯̪̠̥͈͕͈̻̺͍̹͉̫̠̖͖̝͈̗̜̳̥͕̗͙͇͐͒͗̊̃̋͗̎͆̃̀̈́̉̈̈́̇̂́͌̓́̃̄͐́̉͐̏̕͜͜͜͜͜͝͝ ̵̢̙̖͔̮͙̮͎̹͙̣͔̟̦͇̹̗͙̂̊́̽͗̿́͊͐͛̔͆̀͂̾̍̀̋̿͑̓̇͆͊̄̑̄̈́̽̉̋̉̔̓̓́̈́̕̕̚͝͠͝͝͝ͅḑ̵̢̢̡̢̧̡̭̹̟̳͎̬̝̼̝̳̝̦̼̲̣̜͙͖͎̼̘̱̯͉̳̰̟̙̣̘̳͇̟̺̠̰͈̖̪̗̘̩̰͔̲̘͔̰̤̹͔̙̦̻̳̗̜̲͉̻̱͔̠̙̳͚͕̫̙̮͚̼̣̮͔̈́͂̇͌̇̇̑̋͊̈̓̍̊̓̉͌̌̋̕̕̚ͅͅa̴̧̧̻̥͖̭͙̘̮̥̲̘̺̫̦͓̯͍̬̜͕̦̲̭̰̣̗̙̫͉̞̒͋̇͂͂̊͒̎̍̒̉̐̂͊̑̊̃̅͆̂̎̓̏͌̅̈́͛̓͊̊̾͆̀̈́͑̋̎͐̋͂̇̓̒̋̅̄̍̏̇̓͊͒͗̑̊͋̄̿̌͂͐̌̈́̉̈́̆͆̎͂̒̑̑̾͌͑̄̈̈́͒͘̕̚͘̕̚̕͜͜͠͝͝͠͝͝͠e̴̡̧̢̨̨̧̢̬̹̪̮͔̖̩͈̤̼̝̯̗͔̥͚͖̦̻͇̜͚̼̝̫̼̝͚̪͕̱̝̝̳̘̦̫̟̩̮̲͙̲̝̜̯͔̺̘̭̖͇̫̰̙̗͕̯̤̤̊̿̈́͆̈͋̈̈̅͆̒̍̍͑̊̄̈́̚̕̚͜͝ͅͅͅm̶̡̛̛̛̛̼̖͕͙͕̫̳̭̦͆̈́̎͂̎́̅̆̌͐̓͑́͆̿̾͑̈͗͗͐̎̑̉̈́̉͋͋̓̈́̋̅̃̽̉͛̇̍̈̈́͌̏̏̔̌̓̋̿̔͑̃̄̅̉̑̍͑̇̈́͂̌̂͑͒͛̈͌̈̿̾͂̈́̉̄̈́͗̌̐̀̽͘͘̚͘̚͜͜͠͝͝͠͝͠͠͝ǫ̸̨̡̢̡̨̛̮̠̗͚͎͇̱̤͙̳̺̰̹̲̲̥̠̱̻̦̰̺̻̱̩̝̲͚̪͓͚̠̲̼̰̹̯͖͕̙̙̗͔̤̗̹͊̂̓͊̎̽͛̐̉̃͊̎͛̒̅͋̍͛̇̋́͌̈́̂͆̽͊̑͒̈́̿́̿̂̽̈̐͆̈́͒̽̐̍̑͐̐̈́̀͌̂̔̉̐͐̈́͘͜͝͝͝n̶̢̡̡̯̫̗̬̭̲̯̳̤̼̗̪̪̘͚͎̭̘͖͈̺̘͈̪̲͎̦̫̪͕̞͙̫̠̮̬̲̘͖̗̦̥͕̝͉͎̠̖̦͚̞͔͉͈̟͍̥͔͔̮̤͕̫̭̞̣̹̰̰̫̗̦͙̳͖͉͚͍̙̦͕̾̆̑̓̉̄͂̓̈́̅͋͆̽̉̚̚ͅͅ,̴̨̢̢̞̳̼̥̤̲͚̖̼̻͖̰̜̞̙͚͚̘̰̦̝̫͖̗̻̭̳͖̬̺̪͑̒̆̃̽̈́͑̏͐̽̈́̍͌̐̆̈́̍́͛̌̉́͌̒̔͑́̍̎͘͘̚͜͠͝͠͝͠ͅ ̸̡̢̨̧̨̢̨̨̨̡̧̡̢̛̬̰͙̩͓̯̘͉̪͖͕͉̘̱̩͕̰̘̖̤̼͇̳͉̯̹͚̳̤̼̯͚̪͈̗͍̳̯̯̖͖͓̻̣͓̜̹̜̱͉̹̗̯̫̼͈͈͓͔̤̜̪̣̥̖̼̹̼̥̹̘̜͉̻̖̻̞͖̙̯̖͖͖̥͗̆͆̈́͐͂͂̿͋̎̽̚͜͜͝ͅb̴̢̧̢͚̝͙̣̣̜̺̮̫̥̻̲̞̥̭̫̭̹̪̬̹͇͓̳̬̱̪̳̻̻̻̻͇͓̻̹͓̗̼͖͎̖̜̆̉̀̾͆̑͗̀͑̐̌̓̃̊̃̀̅̅̈̾͑̈́̐͂̍͌̎̽͗̂̋͐̍͆͑̊̿̄͂̆̅̊̽̾̂̿̉̇̐̿̅͐͂́̇̈͊͂͐̑̎̑̌͋̈̓͂̍̈͂̋̿͛́̇͆̀͘͘̕͘̚͜͝͠͝ư̵̢̛̥̬͖͖̾͐̉́́͗̓̈́̀̂͆͗̎̄́́͊̓̿͂̅̆̈́̎́̎́͑̎̇́̈̔̇̍̆́̄͑̋̏͒̓̆͊͌́̇̂̀̋̓͗̃̀̃͐̃͆̿͑̓̃͘͜͝͠͠ͅt̴̢̨̢̡̛̟̻̦͖͚̠̝̫͚͇͕̤͙̙̼̩̯̠̮͕͈̝̰̥̦̹̯̼̣̍̋̓͋̋͆̎̐̏̎̌̋̉͋̆̍̑̈͆̏͗̒̓͐̈́̒̉̊̄̌̈́̑͋̒̈́̐͑̍̍̒̽̂̃̎̈́̚̚͘̚͘̕͠͝͝͝͠͝ͅ ̴̡̨̨̢̢̢̘̮̞͚͓͖̥̟̮̲̪̰̥̙͔̲̘̫͚̻͇̦̰͖̤̻͍̲̘̰̭̩̱͚͈͍̝͓̪̠͙̝̰͕͉̮̹̳̩̼͙̝̖̳̜̻̫̖̮̞̜̦̤̝̬̱͇̲͚̜̺̼̺̣̦̓̿̽͌̀͐̄̌̇̐̾͑͛̊͌͋̊̂̌̾͋̾̅̄͗̉́̐̋̕̕̕͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅą̸̢̨̛̛̛̝̗͍̮̱̼̯͙͉̲̱̖̱͕̼̱̯͙̺̬͍̺̜̬̰͈͆͊͆͐͆̈̆͋͋̉̈́̾̃͛̍̉͐̏͗͂̒̄̾̐̆̐̈́͋͆̓͆͗̓̋̿̑̒̓̌͌̃̋̐͌͑̏̇̇̍͌̈̉́̑͆̍̀́͋̀̎͌̏̈́͆̓̈͂͒̔̕̚̕̕͜͠͝͝ ̶̢̧̢̨̨̛̛̻̜̪̱̺̠͕̦̣̱͎͚̙͕̥̩̠̰͈͙̳̺̟̼̜͍̼̫͙̺̫̗͔̙͓͉̲͔̭̟͚̖̮͚͈̙̪̯̠̖͖͎̻̼͓̱̬̮͈̹̮̣̗͙̥̲̝͉̳̩̰͎̹̱̩̺̮͔͔͕̪̣̲̞̲̳͇̽́̀͛̈́͒̌͐̔̔̍̾̅͗̓̓̎͋̔̄̂̊̇̔̆͋͒̾̆̈́̆̑͒̈́̿͂̋̈́̌̃̊̓͑͂̐̍͂͜͜͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅg̵̨̨̢̨̨̡̡̛̰͕͇͓̝̘̖̜͚̥̫̤̺̗̙̟̩̩̟̦͕̺̟̥̥̣̬̤̼̲͍̬͔̬̫̻͖͇͓͚̼̦͓̰̮̱̰͔̱̠̰͈̻̿̓̿̔͛̿͛̄̅͛̄̐̈̎̑̓͂̿̏̋̿̀̒̈͐̈́͆̌̉̈́̋̉̓͊̄̇͆͘̕̕͘͜͜͝͝͠ŗ̶̧̡̨̢̣̣͓̗̜̰͎̰̝̘̝̳̝͇͎͈̱̺͖͙̩͙̝̺̦̣̜̹̞̙̗͓̭̱̜̼̥̤̜͚̣̜͕̲̱̱̩̲̺͓͎̪͗̽͜͜ͅö̸̢̧̧̙̟̬̬̦̣̥͉̱̹̫̞̰͙̻͎͙͎͎̲̖̘̺̱̯̙̝͚̱̱̹͕̜̣̦̻̝̰͔̮̻͔̟̳̫̬́̋̏̈́̊͊͒́͋͗̉̎̊̌̉̊̏̿̚͝͝ͅẁ̵̛̛̛̛̹̰̫̣̩͖̟̺̠̙̪̻̼͉̽͐̎͑̒͗̒̒̂͊̈́́̐͗̈́͛̽͒̈́̂̽̈͌̇̈́͐̋̌͒̉̎̅̊͗̀͑̄̉̓̐̾͌̐̓̑́̈̅͆͑͂̀̑̏̓̽̊̔̄̆̇̆̓͑͘̕͜͝͠͠͠͝͝͠͝͠͠ṉ̸̛̛̛͚̽̈̽̇̐͛͊͌̾͋͂̉͛̔͊͆̍̓̅̈́̽̃̈́̾̍̂̊͐͗͊͐͒͊͐͒͗̓͋̇̆̓̓̊̽̑̚̕͝͝͠͝-̷̧̰̱̳̤̖̳̻̲̳̜̼̘͖̭̣̼̥̙̌͊͆́͂̐͂̾̃̂͝͝͠u̷̢̧̡̠̗̹͎̰͔͇̯̳̲̠̘̘͚̼͎͇̝̩̼̦̭̤̼̳̭͕̾̓̌̊̈̈̅͑͐̅̀̒̊͑͐̓͗̐̏̒̀͐́̆͆̾̄̕̕͘̚̕͝͠͠͝ͅͅp̴̨̧̢̨̡̛͉̗͕͙̦͓̞̗̜͖̻͇͈̦̖̻͎̦͚͕̯̮͇̰͔͔̝̙̻̹̹̟̞̰̰̯̗̥̗̭̲͕̩͓̝̱̹̼̣͈͙͈̗̗̯̖͚̼̮͓̻̹̮̪̜̟͙̱̭̗̬̬̗͉͍̻͔͈̺̲̺̱̼̬̻̰̼̪̱̣̯̪̍̉͒̃̈́͂͋͑̍͆̈̅̀͛͛́̈́̇̄̓̀̈́̎̉̃̍̓͗̓̓́̐̈́̔͗̇̔̆͒͂͒̐̏̆̄̇̔̿́̅̿͆̈́̈́̍͐̌̽͑̿̇̿̏̿͛͋̾̆̄͌͂͒̄͊̀̈́̓̀͊̏̔̓̕̚͘̚͜͜͜͝͠͝͠͠͠ͅ ̷̨̡̡̨̡̢̨̧̢̧̢̨̨̺͓̱̰͉̻͈̰̮͔̲̭̠̳̼͎̬̻͎̖̙̬̼̯̖̥͇̱̱͚̬͉͈̻̼͍͇̲̭͖͍͉͇̖̹̭̱͈͇̬͇̝̫͖̣̼̯̜͍͖͈̩͔̗͎̦̼͔̦͓̜̺͙͖͊̅̔̿͑͐̄̅̋̃̉̽͋͑͑̐̾̄͂̐̽͂͛̏̓̃͋̽̚̕͘̕͜͜͜͠ͅͅȩ̵̡̡̧̧̺̰̫̠̺͓̣͖̝͎̗̯̩̦̤̲̞̣̘͉̳̜̲̘͎̝͈̣̫̣̤̮͉̭͉̫͉̦̰̻̳͉̜͈̗̜͉̠̼̖͖͍̓̋̈́̍̑̐͆̊̚͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅļ̷̡̨̡̡̛̱͙͚̣͙͉̻̟͙̤̲͕̟͚̹̻̘͖͙̬̣̹̙̜̱̘̺̦̼͎̮̱̩͔̝͚̠̠͍͙͇̤̫͇̣̱̗̻̠͖̙̤͇͙͓̪̩̄̾̔̿͐̓̾̽̓͊̈́̈́̏̿͂̾̃̌̾͛͐͌̇͐̒͑̈͐̈͑̂̔̿̇̂͆̂̀̒͛͌̊͛̒̌̑̊̒̒̊͑̓̓̄̋̉̽̈́́̾͑͆͌̃͊̉̉̓̋̔͌̊̄̑͊͌̊̎̈͌̕̕͘̕̚̚̚̚͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅf̷̡̧̧̨̨̪̤̮̭̟͖̺̝̯͙̱̣͍͈̞̤̩͕̟͖͔̝̬̱̰̺͚̱̲̭̮̺̗̺͓̤̟͖̟̣̖͕̤̮̺̭̓̈́͋̅̂̋̎́͋̍̌̇͊̈́͛̈̄̾͋̉̓̋͒̎̅̽̌̓̇̊̒̇̈́̑̄͋̈̔͗͂̕̚̚̕͜͜͝ͅ,̷̢̨̡̧̞̻̰͕̻̮̰̹̜͕̯̥͈̤͈̗͖̮̩̟͚̰̠̗̟̙̳̬̲̙̯̙̅̒̅͌̒̿̎̅̇̄̈́̈́̾̊͗͘̕͝ ̸̢̝̱̻̠͔̘̠͖̯̺̩̤̣̙͉̯̝̙͇̻̫̞̯̯͇͙͓̩͋̔͜͠ǎ̷̡̛̟̘̞̰̜̜͓̰̘̇̐͐̎̎̒̎̃͆́̅̏͐̒̄͐͛̅̑̉͒͌̏̈́̉̈͊̄̉̃̊͒̎͛͋̏̅͑̄̈́͌͊̒͋̃̂̅̾̑̅̒̌͒͗̓̍͌̓̏͗̓͛͐̀̊̅̈́͘͘͘͝͝͝͝͝n̵̡̡̢̨̨̨̛̛̛̛̫͚̠̲̬̰̺̯͇̘̬͖͎̗̭̘̬̜͓͈̦̤̪̬̲̺̟̺̭̻̮̣̭͓͇̺͎̦̠̖̜͚̖̳͓̻̣̜̫̪̰̗͚̰̝͖̻̥̭͐̆͌̄̔̋͒̓̐͋͊͒͒̐̄̓̉͆̌̏̐̋̄̂̋͗̉̌̋̀̿̎̂͆̉̊̑́͐̉͊̐͛̔̇̄͒͆͑̏̇̇̒͒̏̋̏̉͊̒̈͆͛̕͘̚͘̚͜͠͠͝͠͝ḑ̸̢̢̡̧̧̡̡̛̩͈̳̦͍̠̮̝̲͎̥̩͖̩̰̲͕͎͎͕̭̲̗͓̤̤̙̭̩̘̩̣͇̪̥̺̞̯̖̼̱̯̘̞̞̰̮̖̼͔̗̲͕̞̳̤̩͕̙̥̗̘̗̺͙̳̹͉͊̒̆͊͂̋̏̈̾̌̅̔̆̆͋͊͌̓̊͜͝͝͠ ̴̧̨̧͎̭̣̹̞̳͕̺̝̦͓͔̪̭̹̭̗͕̳̮͍̳̫͇͓̼̩̦͙̞͈̹̭̹̝̙̰̘̪͙̠̺̰̫̱̭̦̬͉̤̒͑̒͆̑͗̑̏͛̐͘̚͜ͅh̴̛̫͍̝̹̽̓̍̈́̾̾̓̓̈́̋͒̂̿̇̇̃͋̆̐̅̒̿̉̂̑̀̓̒̆̓̀̈͐͒̄̅͗̎̅̂̃̈́͘͘͘̕͝͠͝͝i̵̢̞͉̱͈̘̝̪͖̯̤̗͍̪̙̠̭̰̯̭̯͙̠̥̠̞͓͕̳̖̮̮̥̭̦͍͍͖̱̮̹̼̮͓̦̹̮͎̅̇͋̋̽͗̈̈̔̉͆̽͊́̿͋̆̍͋̓̃̇̾̌̀̿̈́̈̔̾̈́̂̚͘͜͝͝͝͠ş̶̡̢̢̨̨̡̛̟̠͉͚̱͎̙̫̺̝̻̗̭̟̲̠͔̟͖͚̗̝̫̟̭̲̥̼̹̩̯̫̘͙̟̞̙̳̓̈́̃̅͌̌̐̐̑̈̈̄̌̿̌̈́̓̒̍̐̽͂̈͊̓͑̉̈̀͋̉͛͗̾̐̔̊̒̚͘̚̚͠ͅͅͅ ̸̡̢̧̧̡̬̯̼̩̹̞̮̱̘͉̝̲͈̫̰̱͖̜̰̯̭͓͖̲̰̳̟̦̘̫̼̜͉̭͎͇̩͈̟̪͉̠̣͙̝̥̪̠͖̻̭̥̬̦̬̤̣̠̲͚͍̤̳͓̬̱̜͎̗̱̺̻̰̖̤̣͎͈̜̗̙̙͓̘͂͛̇͋̏͆̏̎̉̏͂̑͂̄͗͌̒̾̐͆͊̈̎̋̓̚̕̕̚̚͜͝ͅp̸̧̨̖̼͈̠̖͚͙̰͛ê̶̢͓̮̝͓̏̂̌̉͆͛̄̂̅̃̒͆̉̄̏̎̈́̿̋̽̎͐̈́͋͑͋̐̃͛́͆̉͊̇̿̓͐̈́̔̾̓̓͋͗̌̓͗̂̈̈̂̾͑̆̀́̃͑͌͛̉̀̆̈́̑̅̽̑̔̅̓̓͑͑̓͊͐͌̾̍̕̚̕̚͘͘͘͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅȑ̶̡̢̧̧̨̢̛͙̪̞͇̻̣͇̬̣͚̳̯̹̤̭̜͈̖̰̮̫̼͕̙̰͈̥̘̗̞͎̥͉̱̯̩̺̥̯̲̻̯͍̹̳̹̮̺̖̼̠̘̬̘̭̱͍̣̺̤̼͚͈̣̝̩͉̖̰̤͖̦̱̥̣̙̬̼̙͎̘̈́̿̽̇̓͊̅̓̈́͂͂̈̎͂̄̔͒̏̄̈̐͗͗̈̎̀͐̑̍̓̒͂̾͆̿͘̚̕͜͜͝͠͝ͅs̸̢̡̡̨̢͎̘͓̻̱̖̩̗̙̰̳̙̘̩̫̖̳̹̣̜̯̖̙̹͇͍͎̭̬͈͕͎͙͕̟̞̞̱̗͍̗̖̱͎̞͕̙̤̠̖̳̩̘̳̭͓̘̘͚̪͇̥̥͚͇̱̱̜̤͈̯̯̼͇̲̝̰̫̖̹͉̪̘̿̽̔̌̅̂̅̑̎̓̂͒͛̓̈́̆̂̚̕͘͜͠͠͠ͅǫ̸̢̡̢̧̛̛̛̛͓̲̰͕͙͉͖̳͈͙͎͖̰̘͔͇̪͇̪̞͙̲̯̗̟͉̼̠̦̙̙̣̻̥̳̺̳͈͇̦̱̬͗̊̀͌̿̿͂͆̓͂̈́̊̃̐̾̌͆̐̆̇̂̅̈́̾̾͋̾͑͌͛̑̓͑̈́͒̆̀͑̾́͗̍̈͐̂͋͑̎͋́̇̐̆͆͗̅͋͐̆͗̑̓̾̊̐̎̈́̚͘̚̕͜͝͠͠͠͝n̴̨̨̢̡̢̛̼̙̠̳̹̮̩̼̗̩̰̩͉̙̦̉̏̌̈́̈́͂͋͛͑͂̕͜͝ͅ ̸̧̛̛̤̮̠̞̬͈̄̉͂̇̈́̂͗̆̽͌̇̒̊̈́͋̓̓͒͆̓̍̐̊̊͗̆̎̅̿̈́͐̋̒̈́͛̂̉̈́̓̽̿̂̍̈́̐̕͘̚͜͝͠͝ẘ̷̧̢̡̡̧̨̧̢̧̡̡̢͔̥̲͙͖̰͖̠͔̱̮̙̹͈͕̬̖̖̝͕̭͉̩̥̱̗̥̬͈̤̦̦̣͔̥̣̻̜͍̳͖̬͈͖̟̝̣͎̣̟̰̺̯̻͚̗̻̤̭͈̮̫͈̹̠̞͊͗̑̈̔͒̓̐ͅą̴̢̧̨̡̧̡̡̛̛̛̛̛͙̝̜͕͎̗̤̲͔͇̱͔̬͎̖̬̗̱͙͇͖̫̭̗̱͇̱̩͔̞̙̙͉̮̩̙͉̙͉̞̱̣͖͚̦͚̞̠̘̹̙̝̯̘̜͕̩̟͚̘̳̟̹̪͓̬͙̟̬͕͎̬̒̈̿̄̓̈́̉͂̔́̓̈́̔̈́̈̆̽͐̎̉̌̓̓̓̍̈͌̿̇̃̃̋̈́͒̓̎̊̊̈́̈́̾͊̐͆͛̆͗̐̃̐͗̈́̐͆̑̚̚͘͘̕͘͘͜͜͜͜͠͝͠͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅs̸̢̢̢̧̧̥̙̗̪̗̦͈̼̜̺̩͈̱̳͑̏̆̍͑̋̑̽͊͋̈́̌́͆̽̂̐̽̿̈́͗̌͐̅̆̐́̇̀͑̾͂̑̂͒̿͒̇̈́͌̍̈́̈́̌͆̆̍̃͂̈́̆͂̐̈́̄̿͌̒̿̔̋̊̐͌̃̊͒́̒͑̊̾̓̽̅͐̈͋̓̕̚̕͘̚̚͜͝͝͝͝͝ ̵̨̧̨̢̧̡̡̛̛͈̯̱̟͍̗̘̗̖͉͕̩̯̭̹͇̩̦̟͈̬̼̟͔͔̦̲̬̩͎̩̻̭̬̯͈̲̳̳͎͎͚͇̬̳̬͉̣̙̮̫̞̎͒̉͊̃͑͒̒͆̈́̃͒͌̓͗́̐́̅͂͛͊͐̈̈́̄͂̀͋̉̇͛̍̃̈́̈́͛͗̓͊̋̓̌͋̈́͂̒̈́̏̓̀̀̉͘̕͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝ͅş̶̧̡̨̛̤̣̻̫̜͎̘̩̲̹̬͔͓̣͓̻̻̬̜̜͖̭͖̰̰̺̳̯̲̞͙̬̤͈͍̻͚̼͙̳͔͍̘̼̰̱͉̻̹̻͉̖̹̰͈̱͚͚̣̘̤̱̭̞̫̣͖̮͓̟̥͙̝̺̲̘̻̇́̉̊̐̍͂̈́̈́͑͋̐̈́͐͂͋̎͊̔͑̊͑̽̊͋͌̄̽̍̓̉͊̄̏͗͋̊͐̒̎̍̋̅̍̐̐̊̇͂̑̈́̎̆̋̈́̂̅̈́́͂͋͒͐̉͗͐̂̊̾̕͜͜͜͠͝͝͠͠ͅͅt̵̛̹̟̲̣́͗̉̒̈́̒̈́̍̔͒͐͋͗̄̐͆́̑͐̉̔͛̀̽͊͛̈́̽̂͋̓͂̐̅̏̅̈́͛́̈́͌͐̅̍̊͛̈́̕͘̚͠ą̴̨̢̨̡̛̛͔̻̖̘̰͓̰̼̞̤̫͉̙͇̪̰͕̰̯̥͇͍͉̬̯̟̙̱̣̯̼͙͚̲̫͕̪̲̺̼̟͙̲̦̠̼͕̣̦̯̼͕̫͎̼̦̬̼̹̩̪͓͚̺̻̣͙͚͚̈̇͗̈́̅̋́̅͋̅̂͛̇̍̎͒̎̒̇̍̿̌̆̎͒̂̊̑̾̓̽̄̈̏̆͒͑̉͂̅̀̅̊͆͆͗̒̌̍̾͑̔̈́̈̔̃̅̋͗͑̂̚̚͜͜͜͠͝͝ͅŗ̴̡̧̢̧̧̳̳̞͍̼̝̖̘̣̰̩̠̪̦̥̱͔̩̲̤̘͈̯͉̹̤̦̲͔͉̝̬̣͖̭̤͙͈̤̯̯̰̘̮͍̝͚͂̎̆̂͑͂̈́͑͒̾̊͛̊̽̿̋͆͋̈́̍̄̓̎̉͆̐͑͑̽̊̑̾͘̚͘͠͠ͅi̵̧̡̢̢̡̨̤͇̬̭̯̗̥͓͈͕̥̩̩͓̣̠̳͓̭̥̘̭̜̠̫̯͙̣͇̮̺͓̮̫͙̤̞͙̳̮̰̗̤̘̰͓̮̭͙͙͉̠̖͔̘̞̼͇̼̣̥̦̻̱̖̟͇̜͉̯͚͉̦̱͈͐̆̉́̇̇̀̍́̽̏̊͑̅̄̔́̋̈́̆̈́͗̈́̀͊̇̆́̑̈́̓͆̏̐̃̂̽̇͌͌͆͛̒̈́̽͌̽̋̄̃̚̕͘̕̚͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅņ̷̨̧̧̡̨͓̟̺͈̳̞͇̜̭̞̬̩͙̜̙͖̘̪̥̣͍͇̣̟͓̼͔̦̠̱͇̤̬͙̟͋͋̊͆̔̅̚͘͠g̵̢̡̢̡̢̡̧̡̧̢̛̛̣͕͎̯̰̦̻̲̯̘̭̮̱͓̥̘̩̗̱̩̰͕̙̦̥̮̪̜͚̲̩̬̩̺̮̳̺̜̖̘̖̹̫͚͓̳̹̯̫̩͔̘̦̙͙̬̝̳̮̳̖̼̗̥̺̺͚͖̩̻̽͂̅̄̃̍̿̂̈́̉̾͂͐̔̓̈́̊͛̎̒͛̓͒̍̈́̏̉͗̍͊̀͗̆̀̄̈́̓̏̓̐́̿͐̋͌̍̃̏̇͌̈́͋͑̋͂͋̆̊̽͆̔͑̒̅̄̓̓̂̐̎̈́̈͘̕̚͘̚͘͘͘̕͘͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅͅ ̴̧̡̨̛͓̳̮̘̱̳͔͇̻̬̫̰͇̖͓͉̳̙̤͚̲̯̹̱͈̳͍̤̠͍̯̱̃͂̀̓̾̿̌͂̈́̀̄͐͒̈́̑̌̃̀͐͊̄̂̇̋̐̐̽̈̔̈́̃͒̌̈́̍̿͐̄̽̏̂̑̉͂͗͛͋̄͗̏͆͊̏̈́̈́͑̈́̕̚͘͜͝͠a̴̧̧̡̡̧̢̢̧͉̣̺̤̠̭̝̞̼̹͚̣̹͍̥͇̮̜͙̲̞̯͓̰͍̖̼͖̯̫͈̙̙̹̠̭̦̖̣̳͉̲̝̩͈̓̇͗̊̒͋̄͂̄̐̎̽͒͂̐̇͐̅͗͐̊̏̈́̔̐̉̐̈͊̃͊͌̃͒̿̾̆̉̓̎̔̃̈̈̓̅̌͆͗̏̅̏̃͐̇̄̓͌̈͐͗̈͌̈́̚͘͘̚͘͠͠͠͠ͅͅͅt̷̡̧̧̨̡̨̢̨̡̛̩̲͓̼̹̜͙̘͙̮̖̜̲͔̮͉̪̟͎͎̤̦̰̪̜̦̩̤̪͔̩̗̳̞͚̫̻̯̝̦͖̹͔̱̤̫͖̳̘̤͓̽͒̎̌͛̌̅͌̿̽̿͗̒̽͗̀͌͑̔̿̈́̇̔̌̊͗̅͒͌͑̏̓̓͛̐͂͋̇̓̕̚̚̚̚͘̚͜͜͝͠ ̷̡̧̢̨̢̢̧̛̥͔͖̜̖̙̭̠̬͈̥͇̬̰̪̦͓̺̙͈̼͖͈͙̳͇̜̜̘͇̯̪̺̤̻̦͇̻̹̳̻̫̥͎̭͎͕̭͔̼̦̠̱̝̻̘̖̣͓̞̬̺̹͚̲̤͍̥̋̾̌̎̈́̽͌̾̾̂̈̈͊͌̽̍̒͗͒̋͛̏͊͂̋̋̈́̊̀̂͒̉͆͂̌͆̒͊̏̚̚̚̚͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅh̸̨̢̨̡̢̨̢̨̡̛̦͈͕̼͉͍̺̰͔͚͕͓̦̘̭̯̺̥͖͙̞̟͖̩̥͕̝̪̭͙̠̲͙͙͔̼̤̪̜͕̘̻̩̫̰̟̻̫̞̬̻̻̻̜͖̦̺̖͔̠̲͇̯̰͇͉̬̮̺̥͆͋͛̓̇͒̿̓̎́̃͆̄̇́̉̒̔͂͛̈̉͌̏͋̇͒̽͒̄̽͒̍̉̂̓̕͘͜͜͝ͅͅi̷̧̧̢̢̡̨̨̼̟̺͓̙̭̖̹̮͈͉̳̭͉̣̩̯̘͚̙̟͇̯̺̺̼̺̠̺͉̳̼̰͍͉͉͍͕͓͎̘̟͈̭̞̟̮̪͓̝̯̙̗̎̀̉̿͆͝͠m̸̧̼͉͙̥̝̪̣̲̤̙̙̮͔̭̱̹͙͖̲̻̪͔̖̲̱̬̝͊̓̂̀͆͋͌̈́͛̕̚͝ͅ,̸̞̝̯̤͚̭̣̰̥͍̱͉͍͍͕͈͉̹̤̱̦͕̳̠̦̟̥͈̹͉̟̞̪̼͍̃̀́͋̒̂͂̓̏́̉͐͐͆̇̄̄̒̎̾̀͆̽̔̒͐͂̓̈̈́͊͐̋̌̿̇̓̈́̂͌̎̈́͋̃̅̄̄̌̈́̉̊͂͆͘̚̕̚̚͠͝͠͝ ̷̢̳̳̩̟̣̤͔̤̹̗͍̻͓͎̟̜̬͈͕̼̩̺̯͈̭̬̠̤̤̬͕͙̠̱̳̰͔̯͔̜͉͕͎̙͚͈̜̻̭̩̜͓̘͂̔̊͒͜͠ͅͅͅs̶̢̡̧̨̜̞͙͕͍̦̯͈̫̟̝͇̞̗̩̯̩̥̩̻̜͔̮̰̰͙̣͖͍̙͈̰̗̗͕̣̣̙̦̲̤̫̙̮͚̳͕̯͙̯̮̰̦̙̓̈́̉͆̉͜ͅͅͅc̶̛͖̹̙̞̈́̃̿̎̎̇̃̌̽̀͋̽̈́̓̓̎̊̽̓̒̍̒̓̅̉̐̔͛̒̐͗̄͋̽̐͋͌͘̚͘͜͠͝͝͝ͅa̴̢̧̡̢̡̢̛̛͓̪̟̦̤̠̳̞̮̭͉̫̠̦͚̯͙͚͈̤͎̰̭͔̹͉̦̺͚̣̻͕̥͆̀͛̔̑̿̎̉͑̎̓̿́̾̎͗̀̉͐̊̑̊͋̇̈́̅͒͆̿̍̐̑̍͌͋̋͊͊̆̒̈́̍̈́̽̆͒̎͂̇̊͑̐͆̌̉͘̚̚̕̕̚͘̕̚͘͜͝͝͠ͅͅr̵̢̧̡̢̨̡̼͖̥̫̻͖̹͓̜̲͈̼̭̟̦̳̹̳̜͇̤̙͚̱̖̭͙͔͔͍͈͔̰̖̩͈̭̩̰̣̗͚̞̺̞͍͔̣̝̟̣̞̗̘̤̩̫͒̆̐̀̈́͒̿͛̉͒̀̍̿̍̈́̓̅͑͐̎̈́͗̏̇̒̍̓͂̈͛̇͂͛͐͐̄̊̀͊̒̿̕̕̚̚̚̕͘̕͜͠͝͝͠͝͝e̷̡̡̨̧̢̧̥͍̩̟̻̖͇̦͇̘̰̺̣̬͔̟͉̻͕̣͓̠̜͍̭̙͓̼̳̘̟̜̰̦͉̝͙͙̙̖͎̟͖̖̘̠̠̟̟̪̼̯͖͍͚̩̫̘̣͓̳̭̯͚̗̻̘̤̯͇̬̰̪̠͙̻̣͓̠̟̯̜̞̓̀͊͒̄̐̄̽̔̾̏̑͛̉̓͛͑̀̈́̆́̔͌̓͐͊̊̿̽̓͆̒̅͊̄̈́̌̌̀̂̄̆̐̃̈́̕͘͘̕͠͝ͅͅḏ̵̨̨̢̧̰̰̬̱̯̲̝̦̝̜̳̫̠̱͕̺͖̥͕̰̞̗̣̻̺̼̮̺̙̪̩̣͚̯̝͙̗̦̩͓̭̳͙̪̖̹͎̙̬̝̼̜͇̦̟̱͔̰͍̗̗̤͍̜̠͕̬̠̘̀͒̈̂̃̈́̄͑̑̓͘͜͜͜͝ ̵̢̡̨̛̗̰͖̼͚̼͖̰͚̖͚̦̣̺̰͕̜̣̖͓̟̭͚̫̼͍̻̻̻͔̩͚̲̤͋̚͜ą̸̨̧̛̘͈̻̟̙̯̪̥̦͇̞̪̬͇̮̪̻͉̣̜͇͙̖̫̹̟̦̟̗̗͙̱͕̦̻̜̳͇̫͎̬̟̲͖̙͔͕̩̽̾̈́̈́̓͌͑̓̄̓̑̄̈́͌̈́̓̑̌̀̄͊̑̐̈́̕͘̚͝͠n̶̡̨̢̡̡̧̢̢͖͓̭͔͇̘̤̭̲̙̟̼̤̠̩̫̼͕̪̥̘̗͚̻̯͍̪̖̲̦̭̬͔̳̺͈̞̜͔͈̻͍͎͇̳͕͖̺̻͖̘̘̱͑̀͑̎̔̓̈́͊̉̈́̒̈̓͗̋͘͜͜͝ͅͅd̴̢̯̮͈̜̹̞̞̹͂̃̑̑̐̎͋̎̔͊̿͊͋͘̕͝ ̴̡̨̨̧̢̨̨̧̡̧̛̛̻̰͈̬̮̥̲͈͓̖̖̘͓͉̝̲̤̙̼̮̪̹̣̗̮̮̱͙͍̭͖̹̮͍͕̞͉̩̫̩̝̦̳̹̫͇͖̮̖̬̰͈͙̣̻̮̥̻̬̲͕͖̋̀̊͒͆͋̂́̀̅̈́̑̉̉͐̇̿̋̈͗̀̏̽͌̄̾̈́̆̏̇͋͐̈́͂́̾͛̈̕͘̚̚̚͜͝ͅͅş̸̧̲̺̹̼̮̫̙̺̼̺̻̲̣̱͚͍̬̞̺̱̥̳͚̦̙̠̦̜͖̺͔̗̦̋̈͆͐͛̑͠ͅͅų̸̛̘͇̠̞̮̪̠̝̠͈͎͉̦̻͗̔͒̌̓̑̆͆̓̊̐̒͛̎͂̅͗̾̽͛̄͆̃̏̊̈́̄̆̓̀̆̋͒͛̂͠͠͠͝͝r̶̨̧̧̨̛̛̛̟̳̠̤̤̤̞͖̘͉̩̣͍͔̩͙̖̥̙͙̹̩͎̫̗̬̦̗̤̠̪̞̬͙̲̰̭̙͉͔͕̯̼͍̩͍͍͉͓͚͕̱̼̦̪̮̣̥̞͎̘͓̗͓̥͕͈̮̜̼̰̰̗̲̹̬͇͙͔͆̈́̊̂̍͂̒͋͆͑̋̅̆̓̍̓̌̒̅̆̊͑̎̐͆̉̇̆͂̈́́͒̄̆̾̐̊̄̾̇̐̎͒̑̊̇̎́̃̃͗̂͊̋͛͘̕͘̕͜͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅp̸̨̧̡̧̧̢̨̨̢̡̡̢̛̤͖̜͉͎̯̗̱̜̠̳̹̙̲͉̱̟̞͖̖̱͍̠̥̪̺͖̰̳̬͉̠͍͖̯̥̠̻̯̯̜̹̲̖͉̖̭̟̝̱̬̥̱͎̰̦̬̬̘̳̝̻̜͍̣͔͈̼͚̥̬̋͛́̔́̆̀̐͛̃͊͋̋̑͐̌͊̎̽͜͝͝͝͠ͅr̸̨̡̧̡̧̡̡̛̪͈̲̺̤̣͎͈͚͖̱̹͕̙̖̠̼͉̩̠̠̖̠̲͚̬͖͇͈̝̘͕̻͕͙͕͎͓̭̹̫̫͈͕̪̞̞͈̝̦̣̜̺͖͍͈̘̰͙̲̟̱̠͉̥̯͕̭̰̫͍̙̼͚̂̐͐͆͛͛̈͐̔̆̏̎͂̑̐͛̎̅͊̀̓̾͆͛̉̚͜͜͝ͅͅi̵̧̡̧̛̛̛̛̟͈̭̻͖̝͉̗̳͔̯͔͖̥̰̫̜̼͈͉̠̜̞̙̻̝̭̘̞̖̹͉̫͚̖͔͍̯̱̟̣̟̥̪̱̥̮̬̫̝̜̦̝̥̱͔̘͙͖̘̙̜̞͍̻̖͍̘͋͆͆̅͗̓͌̈́̉͊̊͆͛̔̈́̂̒̽͐̔̊̓̇̄̔͒̇̎̓̄͂̋̑̍̓̾͊̎̽̈͆̏̏̍̎͒̎͐̋̈̇̾̍̏̊̒̕̕̚͜͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠s̶̡̡̢̨̡̛̛̭͚̻̝̦̞͇̜͖͕͈̼̞̼͚̝̞̬͙̜̰̗̠̯̝̰̫͖̭͇̯̹̩̦̠̥̥̥̥̪͖͇͎̦͕̺̯͈̮̩͍̳̮̲̮̖͙͔̣͔͚̻̹̮͈̗̺̣͔̉́̾̍̍̈̓̓̎̎̀̈̆̃͐̃͊̈͋͐̊̑̎͛̓͒̋̏͂̎̊̎̑̆̂̊͒̐͐̔̑̐̀̓͊̋̄̂̂͗͊̈̔̈́̆͐͋̇̿̈́̿̎͆͗̿͂͂̔́̈́̕͘͘͜͝͝͝͠͠͠ͅę̷̢̨̖͎̪̦̦̺͖͍̬͖̟͙̣͓̻̝͚͕̰̰̜̬͚̲͍̭̝̣̩͕͇̼̍͊̾͛̏͑̿͌͋̉̿͊̽̏̂̌̃̆͛͗̑̈́̃̿̅̊̎̌̓͗̔͑̔̂͑͌͂̍͐̈͐̉̈̈́͊̑̂͐̓͂̾̊̋̒̀̃̾̾̔́͆̎̉͌̑̃̽̏̿͋̈̊̒̈́͛͋́͝ͅͅď̶̨̛̛̛̛͎̼̫̫͚̪̟̄͂̓̈́͒̓̒͐͛̋̎̋͛͊̾͆̐̒̊̃̾͊̅͆̉͐͂̃̂̾̄͛̊͛̋̃̚͘̚͜͜͝͝͝,̶̨̨̨̧̡̨̢̧̡̲͚̞̖̲̮̱̘̠̫͕̬̤͚͚̤̫͈̮͉̪̪͚͙͍̘̼̫̻̯̲̟̙̥͇̤̫̖͉̰̠̮̘͇͍͓̯̘̮̗̝̳͓̻̺͈̫̪͖̳̭̭͊̒́̓̋̆̒̃͛̓͗͋͐͑̊͗̍̾̾̉̉̍̉̃̚͜͜͝͝ͅͅ ̸̨̛̦̖̝̘̙̯͍̘̻͎̗̅̉̔̈́͌͒̈̃̑͑̾̀͛̓͊̑̉͛̎͒̽̂͌̾͑͊̅͑͆̃̉̈́͒̄̅̈́̊̈́̂̓͐̉̐̓̄̅͒̇̍̊̑̐̀̆̽͆̋̈̓̾͌̕̚̚̕̚͝͝͠͝͝ã̵̧̢̨̨̜̝͓̥͎̠̬̳̮̫͓̮̹͚͎͕̣̺̥̼͓̦̻͕̻̱̰̥̤͖͖͍͓̤̯͍͔̯̟̼̳̜̯̞͕͉̯̪͉̠͈̪̘̞̟̯̝̦̖̜͈̼͉̙̭̼͚͍̥̬̤̤͎͕͕̜͓̹̻̝̖͔̑͛̓̊ͅn̶̨̢̨̡̡̢͓̹͍̪̗̰̗͉̹͇̪̣̝͕̱̩̗̫̘̘̯̳͍̺̗̓̓̌̎̊̎̈̒̄͌̈́̾̓̐̄̽͋̾̐̂̔͐̀̆̓̊̃͑͌̎̓͗͘͘͘͜͠͝͝͠͠ͅͅd̴̨̨̨̧̛̛̛̛̛͎͖̙͕͖͙͚̝͖͉̫̠̗̰͖̫̱̬͙̺̬̝̟̜͚͎̞͚͎̜̙̱͚̜͎͖̰͚̅̿̃̆̔̉̿̍͆͑̊̀͆̊̀̏͆̀̔͋̈́̂̒́̃̂̈̅̎̆̈́̈́̈́̈́̓͌͂̈́̾̂̎̎̋̏̾̔͊̔̿̈́̌̅̌̈́́̉͗͒̅̈́̂̽̑̑̅̏͂̉̔̒̕̕̚̕͘̕̕̕͜͜͠͝͠͠͝͝ͅ ̸̢̨̡̡̧̧̛͔̯̹̥̭̼̠͉̩̙̯͇̪̙̘̙͉̼͔̩̜͈͉̟̳̘̘͓̯̙͕̝̖͈̯̥̮̫͔̮̼̜̪͔̮͇̠̝͎̪͔̫̘̳̠̘̦͙̙͇̝̜͉͔̥͖̮̼̌̒̾̓̾́̊̽͋̋̽̽̌͒̽͂̅̿̒̒͗̿͐̍̓̏͌̊̿̃̋̃͑̓̕͘̚̚̕͜͠͠͝͠ͅn̴̨̡̨̛̛̘̻͚̼̪͉͚͙̪̬̹̤̹̰̲̺͓͕̩̳̩̮̪̱̅͒̐̑͑̃̐̽̈́̍̀̈́́̒̀̓̆̃̾̈́̓͂̑͒͊͛̐͘̚͠͠͠ͅě̶̡̧̡͙̺̦̣̱̱̗̬͔̪̬̫̫͉͉̹̱̜̙̣͈͙̰̳̰̟̹̤̣̫͉̹̿͆̓̇̿͋̾͌̀̅̈́̈́̈́̚͜͜͜͝͠i̵̡̢̢̡̨̧̢̛̩̙͓̥̘̼͙̪̭̪͚̺͓̖̱͉̮̟͕̳̙̹̝̤̩̤̱͕̘̻͕̲̹̫̭̞̱̤̙̺̠͍͙̻̮̣̻̘̗͉̜̒̋̈̄͜ͅť̷̡͓̯͈̹͕̥̬̟͈̙̤̤͉̲͕̭̲͂̅̎̽̐̋̓̉̿̿̇͋͘̕͜͝͝͝ḣ̸̡̨̢̢̧̡̧̧̧̛̹̟̤̘͔̫̩͈̜̤̣͇͚̫̥̮͖̲̭͇̝̗̩̬͚̠͉̟̗̮͕̹̣̠̹̯̯͈͕̝̫̭̥̳͓̝̣̳̱͚̪̗͈̜̗̯̙̭̬̝̞̳̣͖̹̙͙̌͆̑̌͋͑̈́̔͌͂̄͂̀͊͐͐̽̋͋̔̈́̇͆͂̈́̈͊̈́̈́̐̀̓͌̄̔̽̔̃̆͛̈́̔͒͆͑̾̆̊̇͋̂̇̽͒̂̊̈́̈̌͐̉͗́͆͛̕̚̚͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͠ͅȩ̸̧̘͕͇̯̯̦̬̘̱͇͚̱͎͙̗̥̱̖̗͍͖̗̹̖͇̖̤̟͓̳̲͎̥̲͙̤͔̮͕̝̩̬̱̰̲̫̱̩̫̳̯̪̟́̅̆͋̉̈́͂̔͊̒̍̋͊̽̃̈̀͗̈̐̋͌͂̒̍́̒͛͋̉̀̍͋̎̂̌̽̑͑̈́̌̇̈͋̌̇̏̓̌͑͛̊̅̉̈́̏̽͊͘̚͜͠r̵̨̨̨̭̜͇̹̺̪̟͇̯͍̻̠̣̯͖̣͍̝͔͓̣̙̲̺̫̘̟̻̼̙̤̳͚̗͚͔̦̤̥̓͐͐̽̓̓̊̆̐̃̓̔̀̅̓̋̊̂̂͐̃̆͆̊̀̚̕͘ ̶̧̡̡̨̡̡̢̛̛̛͎͎̻͖͓̬̦̦̲̺̥͕͙̰̝̝̣͕̬̟̠̣͔̦̙̫͓̪̜̳̳͔̦̗̰̭̪̳̜̰̱̈͌̽̈́̌̿̆͑̌́͋̉̆͒̀̐̔̔̀̓̆̋̍̓͗̆̊͊͂͆̃̐͒̏͊͆̂͊͒͛͛͋̉̆̓̂̾͌̎̆̽̅̚̕͘͘͜ͅở̷̛͚͍̲̻͇̠̬̳̰̣͖͒̇̑̓̓̿̆̔͗f̸̛̛̛̱͈͚̼̃̇̆͛̿̈́͑̾̅̉̈́̂͐̓̈́̀̾̽̈́̍̐͑̐̒̓͆̐̀͆̐͆͑̋̓́͒̽́̍̊̓̑̍̐͗͑͛̆̊̈́̍̋̂̏̊́͑̊̔̌̋̄̐͗̈́̈́̑̊̒̌̈́̾̍̒̔̓̉́̀́̇͘̕̚̚̕͘͘̕̕̕͠͝͠ ̴̧̢̡̡̛̛̛̛̩͍̻͕̼͍̞͙̖̻̯̩̮̻͖͕̯̞̭̖̳̞͈̺̗̭͍̫̱͔̼̻̬̣͎͍̮̝̻̺̹͉̣͓̰̤͈͉̜̰̱̭̮͙͇͙͙̤̻̩̖̝̠̜̰̪̈́̌̋͂̀̇̄̋̏̊̈́͋̇̓̎̆̎̄͆͑͑̉̐̔̽̄̀́̍̈́̓͊̿̂̂͐̅̐̆̾͐͐͑̔̔̅̐̃̔͗͒̾̔̎̌̂̑͋͆̽͌̀̉̏͒͂̈̏̉̏̄͐͌̓̋́͌̓̓̊͘̚͘͘̕͘͘͜͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅţ̶̢̢̨̡͓͖̥̲̱̪̘̯̯͕̹͉̲̱̝̞̩̞̩̘̦͕͓̫͍̱͖̺͓̬̺͓̱̙̻͇̩͓̞̳̘͉̠͓̗̳̮̘̯̯͋͑̾̋̓͛̓̏̊̿̋̒̉̇̉̈̊̔̈́̔͊͛͒̒͊̿̔̑̓͑̓̄̔̈̈̀̌̓̀̃̌̀͊̄̃̾͛̐̅̆̃̍͋̓̈́̌̋̃̉͊̿̍̈́͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͝͠͠͝͝ͅh̵̡̢̡̰̘̩̺̱͓̯͎̠͇̼̭͓͕̰͕̞̪̹͇̟̬̥̣̪̰̻̞͔̯̫̥̥̳̩͎̖̹̙͎̱͓͉̜̺̺͇͓̭̥̹̰͓̭̝͇͎̫͉̹͎͔͚̙͍̞̝̺̜̠̦̪͉̼͍̘̬̤̼͔͋̊̆̈́͗͒̋̈́̾̿̾̂̐̇̇́̅̓͊̂͌̍͆͘͜͜͜ͅͅͅẹ̶̡̢̛͉̒̂̉̌̚m̷̡̡̨̢̗͎̯̲͓̹̝͕̼͙͎̘̰͖̫̬͙̘̲̞̭̰͎̦̫͎̻̗̠͚̪̠̞̯̟̫̘͖̟̤̩͔̯̠͍̘̺̹̹̻̜͙͈̣̭̻͚͙͎̫͎̟̭͇̖͇͍̻̈̐̏̉͛̋̍͛̂͑̿̕̚͝ ̶̡̨̨̡̡̧̨̨̛̛̛͎̖̥͚͍̻͕͓̩̥͙̝̪̳͈͍̬͉̘͇̖̥͉̥͓̼̦̬̮̣̲̙̰̙͉͇̦̜͉͚̤̦̜̲͙̤͈͖̞̠̳̘̠̩̮͔̯̘̳̪͚̠̼̳̺͙̩͇͎̻͎̩̭̲̯̘̫̟͗͛̓̆͗̓͒͊̄̀͊͗̐͌͂̅̈́̈́͐̈́͌̔̍͑̇̈́̈́̿͆̌̐̎̒̓̃̉̉̚̚̚̚̚̚̕͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅw̶̨̨̢̡̢̧̨̨̨̛̛̪͕͍̰͈͙̯̘͉͍͈̪̫̩̞̤̙̙͖̦̪̬̱̪͖̖̼̥͔͎͓͚̹̯̔̅͑͌͊̈́̉͒͐̏͗̎͑͌͌̆͐̓̄́̊̽̀͗͊͂̌̓͂͌̏̊̆̓̇̽̅̂̔̌̉̓̔̒̑̆̚͘͜͠͠͠͠ͅͅe̷̢̧̢̡̺͉̩̥̙̗̰̳̞̮͚͉͍̻̫͍̖͇̩͉̻̗̘̖̭̙͔͎͚̘͔͓͙̬͎͓̹͚͍̪̙̮͔̯̹̣̯̗̙̓͊̓̋̄r̸̛̞̳̆̾̎̌̅̑͗͑͂͒̈́̎̌́̒̓̊̉̏̉̐̉̊͐̌͌̂̈͊̅̉͑̐́͒̆̔̓̇̈̾̂͋̅̑̿̓̅̒͒̾̍̕͘͝͝͝͝ę̷̧̡̛͎̼͇̜̙͙̙̗̩̩̠̲̪̤̝̰͕͖͓̲͖͕̟̩̜͍̥̠̻̳͚͉̗͍̘̪̰̠̺͎̹̭̹̞̮͙͔̝͈̞̤͔͓̗̳͍͎̽̽̏̆̊̿̀͐̈́̏̃̊̍̄̔̅͗̌̈́͗̌̌̐͛̈́̈͆́̄̓̂̃́̿̽̾̒̆̒́̈͐̊͛̐̃̂̄̃̌́͛̇̄̃͒͌̂͆̿͑̓̌̒̿̐̀͘̕̚͘͘̚̚̕͝͠͝͠͠͝͠͝ͅͅ ̵̢̧̢̡̥͙̖̖̙̜͕̱̻͓̜͖͖͎̯͖͉̝͉͔̝̟̪͇̭͔̖͎͇̯̫̗̼̲̻͙͍̲̺͈̙͈͔̜̞̪͎̯̆̀͛͑͗͑͂̓̌͂̅͛̉̓͐̃͌͆̀̆̄̀͒̒̉̑̽̆̀͌̋̔̔̃̓̌̀̿͊͋̑̑̋͘͜͝ͅͅq̸̠̹̲̺͓̹͇̭̲͓̈́̓ư̶̘̱͉̰̝̰̖̣̼̥̼̦͉̦̪̙̣̣̼̥̭͎̪̳̜̩̪̣̮̲͇̑̄̉̃͆̓͋͑̏̑͊̈́̇̎́̆̐̏͛̏͋̏̃̃̓̀̿̉̕͘͘̕̕̕͝͝͠ͅi̷̛̖̘̒̉̅̈̊̍̽̈͋̓͆͂̐̐̿͐̍̒̅̾͛̔͆̑́̓̐̃̃͌̉̍̔̂͐̓͛̆̊̒̐̔͌͑̒̿͗̓̔̾̔̄̈́͌͋̅̊͘̕̚̚͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝t̵̢̨̛̘̩͚͔̣͈̦̦͕̰͔̜͇̹̱͎̠̟̯͓͙̞̿̎̂͑̓̓̋͗̊̉̅̀̇̀͂̊̔̿͂͊͆́̃̈́͊̄̂̓̿̚̚͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̵̡̡̛̱̖͖̰͚͎͓̣̞̪̬͇̲͖̝̪̭̳̻̯̯̹̙͉̲̼̗̝̥͖̼̠͇͉̺̮̙̣͇̱̮̟̤̪͚̖̩͓̂̉̓̑̆̏̂̈͛̊̿̅̉̐̎̈́̓͆̇͗͘͘͜͜͝͠ ̶̡͎͇̦̖̪̗̠̝͎̟̺̻̦̝̖̱͖̗͓̟̯͓̰̰̻̗̙̀̑͊̓̏̔̉̐̂̑̃͂͑͂̒̈́̈́̒̇̈́̈́͑͒̄̎̋͂̔̋̎͒̇̇̿̌͊̓͑̓̍͑̾̒͊̓̕͘̚͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅs̵̡̡̢̢̧͙̯̺̘͇̖̣̻͕̙̙͎̼̫̦̝̰͍̼̝̭͔̞̗̤͖͉̹̫̼̗̳͕̦͈̞̖̲̭͍̼̼̝̈́̂̓͋̌͂̆̇̔̈́́̽͛͑̏͆́͗̿̅̅̋̽͗͊̃̈́̃̄̊͊̄͐̓͆͛͋̅̔̆̽̉̈́̒̾̔͐̐͑̓̍̽͒͛̔̂̒͂͒̉͊̆̄̅͐͑̈̓̈́̈́̒̍̌̿͋̄̓͛̍̕̚͜͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅơ̵̢̧̨̨̡̢̡̛̫͕͙̥̠͈͍͇̹̮̝̖͍̹̣͖̘̭͚̲̬̫̥̖̫̞̳͓̬̜̦̭͎͕͕̘͍͓͕͚̪̲̰͚͕̜̫̜̟͍͖̗̖̝͇̦̹͈̪̫̭͖͇̙̭̦̲̥̤̠̼̝̜͖͇͎̰̜͍̲̠͕̂̇̆͂́̓͐͂͗̂͆̊͋̍͂͗͂͆͌̋̉͐̔́͆̃̂͑̈́̆͌̂̎͛̈́̍̒͋̀͌͋̊̀͗͑͜͠͠͝ ̷̢̡̢̢̢̨͔̹͚̹̥̖̠͈̳͉̺̮͈͕̜͓̞͔̠͓̥̙̦̪̣͔̲̗͚̯̬̣̞̰̖̲̘̺̮̳̠͖̰̤̮͚̪̝̹̗̞͖͔̪̹͖͉͈͙̞͓̩̺̼̥̰͉̻̟̦̣̼̝̫͖̱͕͓̙͎̗͑̋̅̇͒͊͗̔̊͑͗͐̃̚͘͜͜͜͝ͅͅl̶̨̨̨̢̧̢̹̞̠͚̙̤̹͇̪͕̪̭͍̪̞͍̼̭̙̳̝͔̺̙̫̻̪̲̠̤̰̭̇͗͌̎̅̃̔̓͛̀͆̋̒͝ͅį̸̡̡̡̢̡̨̭͓̹̞̰̗͔̺̻̫̺̜͇͎̝̯̜̥̺͙̜̼͉̟̹͈̻͚̬̮̠̰͇͖̜̟͍̠̥̞̦̣̫͚̠̣͔͈̉̔͌̈̈́̆̿̽̈̍̅̈̈́̅̔̿̈́̏̈́͒̍͆̅͛̉̀̇̆̔̑̋̎̀̇̍̆̾͂̌̊͌̆͆͊̎͆̔̌͌͑̕̚̚͜͝͝ͅṭ̶̢̨̨̢̛̤̰̫̦͖̳͉͔̯̦̘̭̘̰͈̩͖̮̱͚̞͔̮͖͍̱̜̱̯̳̞̯̟̼̱̹̮͕̩̦͖̘͎̭̥̲̼̻̝̙͇͓͔̲̝̳͕̞̩̗̜̯̺̫͌͆̃̏̃̓̅̿̐̅̌̑̓͂͌͑̄̓̉̍̐̄̉̒̍̉̔̐̂̀̌͌̑̎̈́͒͘̕͘͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅt̵̨̮̞̪͍̰͔͇̹̞͙̜̼̥̗͉͆̑͂̈́̐̄̊̃͆̈́̀͌͆̍̊̆͐́̏̈͌̃̂̇͗̈́̆͊̌̄̽͋̌͘̕͠͝͝l̴̢̨̛̲̻̣͇̪͚̥͈̼͈̫̦̝͕̯̦͕̤̣̰̺̼̙̭͍̬͖̜̖͕͙̮͎̲̫̈́̾̐͑̋́̿̃̈́͒̊̈́̈́̐̎́̉́̆̓͛̈́̑͂̊̄̅͊̎̃̉͆͊̆̿͐̌̉̽̎̐͆̎͊̒̚̕̚͜͝͠͝͝ͅề̸̡̛̤͍̠͖̝̪̫̻̝̠͈̬̦̩̙̖͈̜͙̠̲͚͙̱͎̌͑̐̎̍̈́̋̈́̃̈́͆̏͑̔̈̂̆͌͆̋͐̉̃̐̉̄̓͘͝ͅͅ ̶̡̛̛̛͕̰͍͔̥̝̺̤̯͓̦̫̗̫̳̠̮͑͐̇͑̏͂̿̿̾̾̑̋̋̍͌͛̌̍̀̀̋̔̏͒̒̓̿̆̄̌̂̂͒͋̋̌͆͐͌̂̄̈́̈́̈̓͂̉͑̇̏̽͑̏̌̎̈́̊͐͘̕͘̕͝͝͠͝ä̶̧̢̧̢̨̛͓̗̗͇̤̫̘͓̳͚̗͕̟̱̪̮̩̻̳̟̹̦̜̙̘̺̖̜̩̘͇͎͙͇͎̭̝̺̭̞̪͙̰̲̤͓̥͉͕́̍̋̏̄͐͑̈́͐̓̈́̌̌͆̍͆̑̍̋͛͌̌͌̃̐̏̾̾̌̏̂̊̿̏̆̇̓̽̂̑͊͑̊̊͋́̃̈͆́͊̒̉͘̕̕͜͜͠͠͝ͅņ̶̡̡̡̡̢̧̨̛̝̮̻̰͉̙̣̪͖̰͖̯͙̫̫̘̰̳̥̼͓̞̫͚̟̗̝̤͍͔͚̭̪̱̘̣͚̫̮͖̰̗͈̭̥̞͈̠̘̞̭͈̥̤͚͕͕͙̈̌̅͌̐̃͗͂͛̇͑̿̊͂̔̔̈͌̑͐͑̊̅̂̈́̅̒͗̏̾͛̏̈́̚͜͝͝͠ͅͅÿ̴̧̢̡̢̨̡̢̡̛̛̛͓͍̦͚͎͙͉̝̣̳̘͎͙̼̲̭̻̫̭̫̫̪͍͍̭̰͇̹͓̱͕̳̫͕͎͓̜̘̲̼͍̯͇̺̦̱̮͓̹̰̞͎̰͔̭̫̱͔͍̻̪̲̺̺̜̬̼̞͖͇͈͓̳̮̥̠͗̆̈́̓̊̓̍̒͒̓́̐̋̌̋̔̈́̍̌̈́̎̔̓̽̊̾̄͐̃̈̓̂̀̍̈́̾̈́̊̓̓͗͌͂̄̈́͌͐̓͗̏̾͊̉̓̑͐̐̌̾̓͆͒̒͒́̔͐̎̍̃̽̀̽̓͘̚͘̚̚̕͘͘̕͜͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͠ͅm̴̧̡̧̨̡̛̛̮̱̹̗̻̺̜̙̜̺̲̦̗̙̯̼̘̪̩̜͈͙̥̘͕̭̬̰̬̟̮̤̼͈̯̣̱̦̹̠̹̣͈̒̔̎̉́͛̆̉̈́̏̎̃͛̂̌̐͒̃̊̑́̐͋̿̅͐̽́̉̒̊̓͌̑͋̄̀́̅̿͑̌̊͐̈͜͠͠͝͝͠͝ͅō̴͖̺̫̤̯̖̗̭̫̗̹̖̭̗̭̏̉͊r̴̡̢̧̡̡̨͖͕̲̯̦͔̟̬̺͚̱̞̝̣̬̟͍͍̤͉̺̪̥͙̪̘̰͍̬̼͍̭͎͚͔̣̥͚̳͈̩̠͍̺̗̟̱̘̫̘̥̹̲̺̼̒͆̉͊̇̅͛̿̈́̌̀̑͘̚͜͝͝ͅͅe̶͖͉̫͍̞̲͛͂̐̉̏̈́̈́̿͆̽͐̈́̑̌̅̐͂́̽̋͐̅̊̈́̒̄̚̕͘͜͠͝͠͝.̸̧̡̢̧̢̢̥͕̤̟͙͙͓̖̭̦̥̙͍̞̝̞͎͇̖̟̦̰̹̯͎̫͇̠̦͎͙̯̱̭͈̯͙̼̝͔͙̬̹̙̩̺̝͕̹͈̮̗̹̜̭̻̪̟̪̲͇̳̜̦̫͔̰̙̭̞͕̲̪̜͖̪̲͙̮͚̱̲̙̃̿̒̔̈̋̂̌̾̅̑͐́̔͋͆̔̔̍̏̽̅͒̾͂̆̈͆̊̔͌̔͛̊̀̿̔̏̔͐̓͐͌̍̐̉̊̈̔͌͗̿̈̋̊̎͌͐͗̈͒̄̔̍̽͌̋̋͌̚̕͘͘͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͝


	4. [static] — [static], [static], [static]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time there was a little elf who felt like he was alone in the world, which was true. The little elf had no parents and too many relatives and none of them wanted the little elf. Too loud, too strange, too smart. He knew one day he was going to be a grown-up wizard, and he didn’t care about other people. He moved too often to make lasting friends, and he was smarter than everyone around him and the adults didn't appreciate that. 
> 
> The little elf was lonely. He went from caravan to house to farm to apartment, he walked down long roads and busy streets, he slept in strange attics and bunks. He didn't know any sort of permanence.   
> One day the little elf woke up, and there was nothing strange about that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back did you miss me?   
> say yes even if you didn't. 
> 
> a quick note about how voidfishing works, for those who prefer explanations to going in blind — minor spoilers for the chapter ahead: 
> 
> The difference between how Taako and Hall are affected by voidfishing is due to the fact that Lucretia deliberately wrote Taako into the narrative she erased, whereas Hall was mentioned in the context of Barry. The “normal” thing to happen would be that remembrance is connected to death status of the person, not Taako’s complete memory loss irregardless of Lup’s dead/alive status.

Once upon a time there was a little elf who felt like he was alone in the world, which was true. The little elf had no parents and too many relatives and none of them wanted the little elf. Too loud, too strange,  _ too smart. _ He knew one day he was going to be a grown-up wizard, and he didn’t care about other people. He moved too often to make lasting friends, and he was smarter than everyone around him and the adults didn't appreciate that.  

The little elf was lonely. He went from caravan to house to farm to apartment, he walked down long roads and busy streets, he slept in strange attics and bunks. He didn't know any sort of permanence. 

One day the little elf woke up, and there was nothing strange about that morning. 

#

Apparently Sazed’s new boss is weird. He’d been warned about this before — not in so many words, but the other staffers had given him pats on the shoulder that had the faint smack of pity when he told them he was “Taako’s new personal assistant.” Sazed had brushed it all off. 

He can deal with weird — especially when weird is up-and-coming TV talent Taako Taaco, popped out of nowhere six months ago to become one of the biggest celebrities of the circuit, people are saying he’s got a lotta staying power ‘cause  _ Sizzle it Up! _   is like “nothing you’ve ever seen,” according to the critics. Sazed figures latching his career to the star train is the best he’s going to get — he wants to be  _ famous,  _ and if you’ve got no connections in the business, personal-assistanting for top-talent is the easiest way to shmooze. 

“He doesn’t like to be handed things,” one of the set hands warned. 

Sazed snorted. “What, like Fantasy Tony Stark?” 

“Seriously,” the set hand said. “He’ll freak if you get too close to his hands.” 

“Alright, thanks for the heads up,” Sazed said, even though he figured that the guy was probably just messing with him. 

The guy was  _ not  _ messing with him. Taako wears layers of clothing with only his hands free, and jerks them away when anyone gets close, can’t stand anyone touching his hair, and doesn’t remember anyone’s name or what they’re doing — it’s like nobody registers as a  _ person _ to him. He doesn’t eat at regular hours, doesn’t sleep at regular hours, and it’s like no one ever explained to him what was normal behavior. It’s like the guy was born in a vat. 

To top it all off, the necklace around his neck isn’t a necklace. It’s a small blue snake which lifts its head when anyone comes too close. Taako  _ talks  _ to it, too, and Sazed’s not sure if the snake talks back but it always seems to be  _ watching  _ him, and it’s creepy, and rumor has it that the snake is poisonous and it can’t be sanitary, having the snake on set. When he suggested getting a tank for it, the snake hissed at him, and Taako laughed and said, “Yeah, no, Hall stays with me.” 

Working for this guy is going to drive him nuts, Sazed realizes, one month in. The snake still hates him. Taako still looks through him like he’s made of glass. But for now, working on  _ Sizzle it Up!  _ is his only ticket to stardom, so he’ll just have to grin and bear it. 

# 

Things Taako takes with him when he runs: 

  1. His hat, with the big glittery stars
  2. His wand, but not the one he uses on the show
  3. His original copy of the SIZZLE IT UP WITH TAAKO: RECIPE BOOK 
  4. A granola bar
  5. The small blue snake who tells him that it’s not his fault



“That’s really nice of you to say and all, Hall,” Taako says, only a little bit hysterical as he picks a lock to get the keys to some rando’s carriage. “But I’m  _ pretty sure _ , that it was my magic, shit, fucking  _ elderberries _ , I’m too pretty for jail, can’t believe—” 

“You wouldn’t have made that mistake,” Hall says, close to his ear, and it doesn’t sound like sympathy, it sounds matter of fact. “You’re better than that.” 

Taako laughs. He only has a handful of magic lessons under his belt, cobbled together from secondhand textbooks. The transmutation thing was a  _ gimmick _ , and no wonder it got out of hand, but  _ forty people _ , that’s his career down the drain, but also  _ wow he just killed forty people huh!  _

“Shh,” Hall says. “You can freak out about this later.” 

“Who’s freaking out, I’m not freaking out,” Taako says, and the lock clinks open and maybe they’re gonna make it outta here with their skins intact after all. 

#

Taako doesn’t remember when he got Hall. All he knows is that there was a time in his life in which he didn’t have a small blue snake curved around his neck, but he’s pretty sure that was when he was a kid — who remembers their childhood, anyway? Somewhere along the line he picked up the pretty little pit viper with memory problems.

“I don’t have memory problems,” Hall says when he asks her about them. “ _ You _ have memory problems.” 

Taako pokes her on the head. She mock-hisses at him. He doesn’t know how he knows it’s just playing, because it sounds exactly the same as when she’s actually angry. But somehow he knows that she’d never hurt him, despite what people say about “wearing a snake as a necklace, are you sure that’s  _ safe? _ ” 

“She’s not a  _ necklace _ ,” Taako tells them sometimes. “She’s a  _ therapy snake _ ,” and then tries to keep a straight face while the person he’s talking to tries to walk their comments back, Hall’s laughter vibrating against his collarbone. 

Hall stops hissing and uncurls around his throat to slither down his arm to sit in his palm and look him in the eye. Taako strokes her scales. 

“You so  _ do _ have memory problems,” Taako says. “Sometimes you talk about stuff — like, you keep mentioning a Barry? — and then I ask you about it later and you tell me that you have no idea what cha’boy’s talking about. Are you gaslighting me? Cause it’s either that or you’ve got some sorta Snake Alzheimers.” Taako pauses. “Please don’t tell me you have Snake Alzheimers.” 

“I don’t have Snake Alzheimers,” Hall says. “I, uh, don’t think that’s a real thing?” 

“So it  _ is  _ gaslighting!” Taako says. 

Hall sighs. “I’m not gaslighting you, Taako.” She winds around his wrist. “I promise.” 

“That’s what you’d say if you were gaslighting me,” Taako points out. 

Hall sticks her tongue out at him. Taako sticks his out back. Hall rolls her eyes and slithers back up his arm to encircle his neck again. 

“I’m not gaslighting you,” she says. “I’m just looking after you, while— because I love you.” 

# 

The whole Phandolin adventure is putting Taako on edge, though he’s trying to keep his cool. It’s not that adventuring is outside his wheelhouse — though it is — and he’s still trying to get the hang of introducing himself as a wizard and not a chef, it’s that it’s… too easy, traveling with the two chucklefucks he party’ed up with on Craigslist. 

Taako knows himself, and he knows he doesn’t  _ like  _ people. He likes the attention they give him, he likes the adulation, he likes picking fights and winning them, he likes getting in people’s faces and laughing at them, but he doesn’t like  _ people.  _ People suck. It’s not from lack of trying — he used to try and feign interest, hoping it would turn into real interest, but it’s like… well, he doesn’t know what it’s like. Kinda feels like every time his heart isn’t in it. Cha’boy’s just not a people person, Taako guesses.

_ But these assholes.  _ He doesn’t even  _ know _ these guys, and they’re so  _ fucking  _ weird — what the hell is a beach dwarf? Why does he have a weird bug? Why the  _ hell _ does Magnus have a talking bear following him around? Why’s he so fucking cheerful, no one’s that cheerful? — but he  _ likes  _ them. He doesn’t mind sharing a cart with them. Or arguing with them about what supplies to buy. Or telling them about the fact that he’s a wanted elf, on the run. 

It’s easy. And Taako is suspicious as all hell about that. Nothing in life is easy — there’s no such thing as a free lunch, they’re all probably under some sorta weird friendship curse. 

He mentions this to the guys and Magnus gives him a slap on the back and says “we’re friends?” like it’s the best thing he’s heard in weeks, and Taako doesn’t even flinch. 

“Don’t push it,” he says, because he still has standards. 

“That means yes,” Hall says — and that’s the other freaky thing,  _ Hall likes them too.  _

# 

Then they meet Barry Bluejeans, lying on the floor looking like a pile of hamburger meat poured into some denim. Barry Bluejeans, who Hall catches sight of and slides down Taako’s arm and across the floor in a streak, too fast for Taako to stop. 

“Hey what the fuck!” one of the gerblins shouts. “D’you just keep snakes up your sleeve? Was that a snake?” 

“You don’t wanna know what else I keep up my sleeve!” Taako shouts back, bluffing. “Gonna send some real weird shit over there if you fuck Bluejeans up!” 

“It’s true,” Magnus shouts, chiming in. “He has some spooky wizard crap up his sleeve!” 

“He already had a snake!” the gerblin howls. “What’s weirder than a snake?!” 

“Two snakes!” Merle shouts. 

“I can’t deal with two snakes!” the gerblin groans. “Fine, we’ll  _ talk, _ ” and they all get to negotiating about Klaarg and Taako pretends that he isn’t hurt that Hall abandoned him. She sometimes talks about a Barry, and Taako wonders if this man is the one she talks about. That’d be a hell of a coincidence. 

#

“Why’d you go abandoning me for the jeans man?” Taako asks quietly, while they’re waiting for their drinks at the inn in Phandolin. Hall does the snake equivalent of a shrug, a full body shiver. 

“I don’t know,” she says, trailing off. 

“Do you like him better than me?” Taako asks, trying to say it  _ cool  _ and not the way he wants to say it, which is weirdly jealous because for some reason, he can’t stand the idea that his snake might like someone better than him. That’s a fun new personality realization, Taako thinks: _ possessive over a ten inch snake.  _

“N-o,” Hall says thoughtfully. “It’s different. I just… it was  _ important  _ that he didn’t die.” 

“It’s also important that you don’t, oh, I don’t know, go running off in a combat zone?” Taako says. “Maybe don’t do that? Just a thought.” 

Hall pats his shoulder with her tail. “It won’t happen again,” she says. “He just startled me. Don’t worry, I still like you better.” 

“Good,” Taako says. “Cause, no offense, but I can’t believe we gotta keep working with the guy. He just got beat up! He didn’t do anything! He has a  _ mullet. _ ” 

“Hey, don’t diss the mullet,” Barry says mildly, from behind, and both Taako and Hall jump, Taako whipping his head around to stare at barry, who’s trying to keep himself from laughing. 

“Oh shit!” Taako says, and then pauses. “No, I stand by what I said.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Barry says. “Guess I’ll drink both of these by myself then.” He moves like he’s going to leave take Taako’s sweet, delicious alcohol with him. 

“No!” Taako says, and without thinking, reaches forward to grab the drink from Barry’s hand, skin accidentally touching skin, and neither of them flinching. 

#

Taako picks up the umbrella and it’s warm in his hand. It feels  _ powerful.  _

A shiver down his spine. He shakes it off. The ghost of the previous owner, he guesses — hope the umbrella isn’t haunted. 

# 

Phandolin is destroyed, Barry Bluejeans dies, and then everything gets really weird, really fast. First the flight to the second moon, all crammed in the spaceship with everyone and their animals — Killian had tried to ask if Magnus if he could leave his bear behind, but he shut down that line of inquiry right quick — then the fact that the moon is a  _ college campus _ , then there’s the jellyfish the size of a two-story building, and then there’s drinking the jellyfish goo, and then there’s the woman sweeping into the jellyfish tank room exclaiming “Welcome to the Bureau of Balance!” 

Oh, and Hall has spent this entire time curled up his sleeve and tightly wound against his arm, trembling. Taako rubs her scales through the fabric to try and comfort her, but she just hisses, and so he stops, and listens to the Director speak as she leads them to her office. 

The office itself is weird. Huge portrait of herself behind the desk, beneath which there’s a fancy golden instrument and a tank in which a huge green moth sits. 

“What’s with the moth?” Merle asks, maybe ‘cause he’s also got an insect hanging around him also. 

The Director smiles. “Her name is Selene.” 

Taako feels Hall go rigid inside his sleeve. 

# 

Late that night, when the boys are in bed and all tucked away, and Taako is squished up in his bunk all alone, Taako pokes Hall to dislodge her from his forearm. “You’re gonna cut off my circulation if you stay like this.” 

She pokes her head up. “If I was going to cut off your circulation, it would have happened by now.” 

“You could be biding your time,” Taako says, gently pulling her off to disentangle her from his arm. He’s relieved. She’s almost never so quiet, or so still. “What got into you, earlier?”

Hall lets herself be moved, slipping so that she’s moving down his arm and onto his chest. “Do you trust the Bureau?” 

Taako wrinkles his nose. “I just met ‘em.” 

“But what do you think of the organization, so far?” 

“Well, Killian tried to kill us, but then she took us to her secret base. Johann was just, super depressing, but his music was good? Avi’s fine, I guess. And the Director made a secret moonbase, so  _ obviously  _ crazy, but also, crazy with style. And I guess she’s trying to save the world. So-o, mixed bag, overall.” Taako shifts a little, pulling his blanket tighter. “Why, you don’t like ‘em? But you liked the guys, and they’re  _ way  _ weirder.”

“I like the Director just fine,” Hall says. “But you can’t trust her, Taako.” 

“Why not?” Taako says. 

“She…” Hall says, and sounds hesitant. “She did something very bad once, that I can’t tell you about now.”  

Taako frowns. Hall turns away, and slithers under Taako’s pillow before he can ask any more questions. 

# 

Lucretia doesn’t talk much with Selene anymore. There’s the illusion to uphold — this world doesn’t have daemons, Lucretia can’t have a daemon. Her life is lies upon lies at this point: it requires the tacit rejection of her soul — but Selene still reflects Lucretia’s truest thoughts. 

Her wings had trembled, the entire time the boys had stood in their office. She had watched as they stood in front of her, cataloguing their changes as Lucretia exposited. 

They look older. But don’t they all look older, the new lines across Lucretia’s face and hands included. Their clothes look different – they’re dressed like locals, they have no reason to believe they’re anything but. Marguerite was tangled, as ever, in Merle’s beard, which would be a more effective disguise if the other flowers in Merle’s beard weren’t singed. I’morko lopes after Magnus, and he keeps a hand in her fur when they stop. Selene feels relief at this—the mind no longer remembers, but the heart is the heart. 

And then there’s Taako. Taako standing alone, Taako smiling vacant, Taako talking about decimation like it doesn’t disturb him—it always disturbed Lup. And Selene knows that Lucretia didn’t notice, because she turned her back to scrub her eyes with the back of her hand after they left, but there’s Lup’s umbra staff on Taako’s back. 

# 

Time passes. Taako, Merle, and Magnus go to exotic new locales and heckle exotic new people and murder exotic new monsters, and it’s  _ nice  _ to be part of something, actually. Taako feels like he’s really bonding with these guys, not that he’d ever tell them that. Hall’s quiet now, though. Hall had given him explicit instructions not to talk to him in the moonbase, to tell Magnus and Merle not to let any of the BoB people know that she was there. Taako asked if she was planning things. Hall said yes, but Taako should listen to her anyway. 

Taako’s showbiz career is in shambles and he’s hunting down talking objects of mass destruction. Life’s weird that way. Might as well listen to his snake. 

Then there’s Goldcliff, which, well, it’s weird for a lot of reasons. Taako’s not a fan of romantic tragedies, and he’s pretty sure that turning into a tree with your girlfriend counts as the worst sort of romantic tragedy, but hey, that’s a depressing thought for later. Right now he’s concerned with Captain Bane clearly trying to poison them with wine. 

“This is a— This is a thirty-year brandywine,” he says. 

“Magnus, kill him,” Merle says. 

“This is really rare stuff,” Captain Bane insists, agitated, looking like he’s about to shove the cups in their faces. 

“Kill him, Magnus, right now,” Merle says again, and I’morko is growling and looks about to lunge when— 

Captain Bane begins to glow red. He takes Merle’s glass and smashes it on the ground, and then takes Magnus’s glass and chugs it, and his skin turns a sickly black, and he falls to the ground, dead. In his place, a glowing figure in red robes hovers. 

Magnus punches it. His hand goes through. He hits it with his axe. The axe flows through. 

_ are you afraid _ , the Red Robe whispers, and then louder, intones, ARE YOU AFRAID. 

Hall, looped around Taako’s neck, starts laughing. 

She unloops herself and slips down and across the floor before he can even say anything, neatly swerving around the splashed poison and corpse to look up at the Red Robe, and Taako almost takes a step after her cause  _ what is she doing _ , except I’morko grabs the back of his shirt with her teeth. 

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” Hall says. 

“I’m trying to,” the Red Robe sputters, rearing back. “I’m trying to  _ scare  _ them! You’re ruining it!” 

“Why’re you trying to scare them?”

“Because I have  _ plans _ ,” the Red Robe says plaintively. “ _ Hall!”  _

“Hey buddy!” Taako says. “Back off from my snake! Get your own snake!” 

The Red Robe is silent for a moment, looking straight at Taako, and back down at Hall, who is, for some godsforesaken reason, not moving away from the creepy ghost. 

“No,” The Red Robe says in his hollow voice. “I think I’m taking this one.” 

And Taako, still being held back, watches as The Red Robe bends down and scoops Hall into his hands, like he’s done this a million times, like it’s something familiar, and  _ Hall lets him,  _ and then a bright puff of flame fills the space they were in, and they’re gone, and Taako is left snakeless, which makes him feel all sorts of terrible that he shouldn’t be feeling, because it’s just a stupid snake, who talks to him, and tells him that he’s her favorite, and maybe everyone he trusts is going to end up betraying him, huh? 

“Well,” Taako says. “Shit.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter count has been updated - we've got one more after this! 
> 
> .....tell me your thoughts :3c   
> love reading those >:3c 
> 
> thx for reading!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> A brief list of daemons: 
> 
> Barry — Hallwinter, “Hall,” a (blue) island pit viper  
> Magnus — I’morko, a brown bear  
> Merle — Marguerite “Margie,” an orchid mantis  
> Lucretia — Selene, a luna moth  
> Davenport — Zephyra “Zeph”, an albatross
> 
> im elsewhere on the internet on my [tumblr](http://anonymousalchemist.tumblr.com/). you might get some liner notes there later and i'll update with a link if so.


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